Revelations
by Silver Bee
Summary: Jeff's about to find out just how right he was in choosing his sons to form the International Rescue team.
1. Chapter 1

_After all the delays in updating 'For Better, For Worse', I swore I wouldn't post another story until it had been completely written. But Loopstagirl decided to have her birthday today, so here I go again! This is much shorter and lighter than the last one - I just hope Jeff and the boys cooperate and that real life doesn't throw up any more obstacles..._

_Happy Birthday Loopsta! This doesn't go even the tiniest way towards repaying you for all the support you've given me this last year._

Chapter One

It was good to finally be home, Jeff Tracy thought as he brought his car to a halt in the garage, rolling his tired and aching shoulders before reaching into the back to grab his case. It had been a while since he'd last been in Kansas - his company was in the throes of a serious expansion into the Far East and he'd been travelling around over there for the past two months. He wasn't actually supposed to arrive until the following afternoon, and part of him felt bad for spoiling the welcome home celebration he knew his family would have been planning for him. But the temptation to get back sooner rather than later had been too much - and what better reason to test out the modifications Brains had made to his jet? The journey time had been cut by half as he'd pushed the engines to their new limits. Probably a tougher test than Brains would have liked, Jeff thought with a smile, but then he was an Air Force man - and a Tracy! - so what did the genius expect? Anyway, it wasn't as though he was going to allow anyone else to try the new thrusters out, not when secrecy was so important. After all, this was no potential commercial enterprise, this was part of... _the plan_. He still couldn't quite believe he was going through with it, but he'd come too far to back out now.

Slipping through the side door and into the house, Jeff paused. He'd half-hoped someone would be up to welcome him home, but it was nearly 2am and naturally the house was quiet. Quieter even than it had been a few years ago, with almost all his sons grown-up and leading their own lives. Only Gordon and Alan remained, although the former was counting down the weeks until he left for Florida, where his Olympic training schedule would begin in earnest. Soon the house would be practically deserted and Jeff wondered if he should consider downsizing. Then again, it would be good to have somewhere big enough for all the boys to return to. Virgil was home right now, in fact, his second year at Denver completed. He'd spent the last few weeks working at his father's Kansas factory before heading off on a road trip with some friends. It was another reason why Jeff was so keen to get home - he'd only get a couple of days with his middle son as it was.

Bed or coffee? Jeff wondered. He yawned, half-turned to the stairs, but then the coffee-addict won out and he headed towards the kitchen. It would have to be decaf at this time of night, but still, it was better than nothing.

The large slice of chocolate cake next to the makings of a mug of hot chocolate made him smile. Bless his mother, she must have guessed he'd move heaven and earth to get home early. Two minutes later and the drink was prepared, the cake demolished. Jeff turned off the light and was about to head up to his room when the sound of gravel crunching outside made him pause.

There it was again. Louder now, but not the usual careless sound that someone with a genuine reason to be wandering around outside the Tracy house would make. No, this person, whoever it might be, was moving quietly, clearly making sure they weren't heard.

Jeff placed his mug down and moved towards the door. He supposed it was possible that it was a son, returning home after some illicit rendezvous. Despite his annoyance, he had to smile. After all, he'd been a teenager himself once and he recalled several such occasions. Most times he'd made it back to his room without being discovered, but now and again his mother had caught him out and boy, had he regretted it. The woman certainly knew how to give a lecture! If anything, with five boys to practise on, her skills had improved in that department over the years. No wonder the boy was moving so quietly.

Any second now, he thought, the back light would go on and he'd be able to see who it was. Maybe he'd test out his own parenting skills - his boys might tease that he had nothing on Grandma when it came to discipline, but he could try...

But there was no light. No one inserted a key into the door, either. Instead there was a hesitant shuffling outside, the door handle moved up and down a couple of times, then the footsteps carried on around the side of the house.

So it wasn't one of his boys. Typical, Jeff thought. He'd made it safely home after travelling halfway round the world only to run into trouble in his own backyard. He hesitated, wondering whether to wake the sleepers upstairs, or even to call the police, then decided against it. He'd investigate himself first. After all, he was the head of the family and its protector - it was his job and he'd never been one to abdicate his responsibilities. Anyway, who knew what might happen in the time it took for help to arrive.

He quietly opened the back door and slipped outside. Still no light went on and he guessed that it had been disabled so as not to draw attention to the intruder. Keeping to the narrow paving at the side of the house, he avoided making his presence known as he approached the shadowy figure who was now fumbling around at a window. Confident that there was no way the man would get in, Jeff took a step back, fully intending to take the sensible option, retreat and call for reinforcements.

Then the window began to slide open.

Launching himself at the man, Jeff pulled him backwards and swung him round, hoping that a well-aimed punch would bring him down. But although the blow was strong, catching the intruder in the stomach and making him double over, it didn't fell him, and before Jeff could follow it up, he took a punch of his own, a tooth-rattling blow that left him seeing stars. He dropped to the floor, though he didn't let go of his assailant, dragging him down on top of him.

Then the battle began in earnest, the pair grappling and trading blows in a desperate attempt to gain superiority. Jeff was regretting not calling for help, not that he could do so now, of course, not when every ounce of breath was needed to keep him going in the fight.

But Grandma's ears were sharp and even asleep she was alert to any danger her family might be in. The grunts and thuds woke her and she rushed to the window, snapping her light on, opening the casement and demanding to know what was going on.

The light was enough for Jeff to see the would-be-burglar's face.

_"Virgil?"_

Virgil let go of his father as though his hand been burnt, his raised fist dropping limply to his side. "Dad?" he panted, "What are you doing?"

"What am _I _doing?" Jeff had to gasp for air between each word. He hadn't been in a brawl like that since his Air Force days, though he was still fit and strong, despite spending his days at his desk. Where had Virgil learned to fight like that? "I thought I was stopping a burglar."

Virgil would have laughed if he'd had the energy - and if his jaw hadn't been throbbing so painfully. He'd never have believed his father could throw a punch like that and in spite of everything, he was impressed.

_"Boys!"_ Only Grandma could put such fury into a whisper and Jeff flinched, knowing from that one word that he was in as much trouble as his son.

"Let's get back to the kitchen," he suggested.

There was no argument from Virgil.

Five minutes later father and son sat at the table, Virgil gingerly holding an ice pack to his jaw, whilst Jeff flinched as his mother dabbed at his bleeding nose.

"Welcome home, Jeff," she said, her tone far less friendly than the words would have suggested.

"Didn't expect that kind of a party," Jeff muttered. "Virgil, you still haven't told me why you were breaking in."

"I wasn't breaking in," Virgil said. "I forgot my key. I didn't want to disturb anyone and I knew the catch on that window was a bit loose, so I thought I'd try it before I woke someone up."

"Didn't you think it might be one of the boys?" Grandma asked.

"He didn't put the light on," Jeff protested.

"Bulb's gone," Virgil said. "Alan said he'd replace it."

Jeff shook his head in despair. Broken window catches and blown bulbs... So much for his big idea. How could he maintain a secret base when his own home was apparently falling apart? He'd have to get Brains round to sort the place out, he thought, since his sons were apparently incapable. How many Tracys did it take to change a lightbulb anyway?

"You could have said something," he complained.

"I couldn't!" Virgil protested. "You knocked the wind out of me with that first punch. I didn't have the breath to waste on talking, I was too busy trying to defend myself. Besides, I never expected to be attacked by my own father. Aren't there laws about that sort of thing?"

Grandma ruffled his hair affectionately before turning to glare at her son.

Feeling hard-done-by, Jeff went on the attack. "Why on earth were you out this late anyway?" he asked. "Isn't tomorrow a big day at the factory? I'd have expected you to take that a little more seriously, Virgil. You of all people should realise how important that prototype is."

"I didn't plan on getting back so late," Virgil told him. "The band played tonight but Dylan's van broke down on the way back. By the time I realised I couldn't fix it and we'd found another ride back it was past 1.30. Believe me, I'd have loved to have been home earlier - I'm starving." He looked ruefully at the plate which now held only crumbs. "That was the last slice, wasn't it Grandma?"

"Sorry, son," Jeff said. He meant it, too - in the Tracy family there was no greater crime than stealing another man's food. "I thought Mom had left a snack for me in case I got back early." He looked at his mother in surprise. "Was that really the last of the cake?"

"There's a chocolate cake in the pantry," Grandma told him before rounding on her grandson as he made to speak "No, Virgil, you can't have any now, it's for your father's homecoming. Go to bed. You've got to be up in four hours."

Grumbling, Virgil headed for the door.

"You too," Grandma said, her attempt at a glare turning into a smile as she gave her embarrassed son a hug.

Jeff caught Virgil up at the foot of the stairs. His son was staring into space. "I don't think even you can sleep standing up," he said. "Get to bed."

"Sorry, Dad. I was just thinking about Dylan's van. We need it for Saturday - the band's playing and without the van we can't transport all the gear."

"You can borrow a truck from the farm," Jeff suggested.

"Yeah, but then we're supposed to be starting our trip on Monday. Dylan's only got two weeks off. We'll have to rearrange everything if we can't get up and running by then. That's if Dyl can still afford to go after paying for the repairs. I offered to help out, but you know what he's like."

Jeff frowned. Virgil's friend was the son of the town's lawyer and although Dylan seemed set to follow in his father's footsteps with a place in the family firm ahead of him, he was as unlike his father in other ways as it was possible to be. Mr Walsh was a cold, distant man who insisted his son make his way in life without any help from him. Jeff didn't like him. He'd never believed in coddling his boys, but he'd never failed to help them out if they needed it, either. Whilst they'd all had to do their share of chores to earn their allowance, they'd never wanted for anything, be it grand pianos, telescopes or cars.

"What's the problem?" he asked, frowning when Virgil explained.

"I can fix it," the young man said, "So he won't have to pay a mechanic. But it's a tricky job and that part isn't easy to get hold of. Not round here, anyway. By the time it comes in we'll have lost at least a day, probably two."

"Would they have it in Kansas City?" Jeff asked.

"Yeah, but when am I going to get down there? I've got a busy day at work tomorrow, remember?"

"Look," Jeff said. "You order the part - you can square things with Dylan later - and first thing Saturday morning I'll take Gordon out for a flying lesson. We'll pick up the package at the airport and you can work on the van on Sunday."

But Virgil didn't seem as pleased at this idea as Jeff had expected. "What's wrong?" the older man asked.

"I promised Grandma I'd play at her church social on Sunday."

Jeff slung an arm around his son's shoulders. "Tell you what, come along with me and Gordon. You can bring the whole engine unit with you and fit the new part on the way back. It'll be good for Gordon to have a passenger. Between you and me, he's not the most enthusiastic pilot. Maybe having his big brother on board will help him focus."

Virgil considered this. It would solve his problems, but on the other hand, he wasn't so sure he wanted to risk flying in a craft piloted by Gordon. If John was a menace on the roads, from what he'd heard, Gordon was matching his lack of ability up in the air. Still, his father would be there to take over if needed...

"Okay," he said. "Thanks, Dad."

Jeff smiled, then winced as the movement pulled on a bruise. He rubbed his face. "You surprised me," he admitted, studying Virgil closely and deciding that he had indeed bulked up since he'd last seen him. "I know you're not a little boy any more, but still..."

Virgil blushed a little. "I've been working out," he said. "Ready for... _you know." _

Jeff did know, as did Grandma, but Gordon and Alan were still unaware of the grand scheme the others were hatching. "I mean," Virgil continued, "I know we'll have Brains' machinery to do most of the work, but there might be times when a bit of brute force is needed. I want to be sure I'm up to it."

"Oh, you certainly are," Jeff said, clapping his son on the back then apologising as Virgil hissed in pain.

"Are you two still up?" Grandma's voice made them both jump. "If I'd known you weren't heading straight to bed, Jefferson, I'd have made you wash up the dishes you left."

"Night Dad!" Virgil shot up the stairs before Grandma could find something to tell him off about.

"Sorry, Mom," Jeff muttered and under the steely gaze of his tiny mother, the multi-billionaire, employer of thousands, winner of numerous business awards, highly-decorated pilot and fearless astronaut, trotted up to bed like a five-year-old.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you so much for the response to the first chapter. Whirlgirl, I'm so pleased you liked it._

Chapter Two

Virgil should have known that things wouldn't go according to plan. First of all, having dragged himself out of bed that Saturday, he'd been hit with the news that his brother's flying lesson had been postponed until the afternoon, Gordon having offered to help out with a swimming gala for the local scout group in the morning. Never at his best when he'd been unnecessarily deprived of sleep and deeply resentful of his needlessly early start, Virgil had tried to insist that they stick to their original plan, but their father had overruled him, pleased to have the time to make one or two vital business calls.

Jeff assured Virgil that he'd still have plenty of time to fix the van. If it came down to it, he promised, he'd finish the job himself the following day while Virgil played the piano for his grandmother. Virgil thought his father was just looking for an excuse to avoid spending several hours in the company of Grandma's church friends - and if he was honest, he didn't blame him. He hoped his grandmother knew just how much he loved her, because he wouldn't be doing it for anyone else.

At least the part he needed was safely at the airport in Kansas City awaiting collection and the faulty engine unit had been retrieved from the van. The upcoming road trip would probably be its final farewell - the vehicle had really been ready for the scrap-heap years ago, but the combination of Dylan's lack of funds and Virgil's mechanical expertise had kept it going. Virgil still smiled whenever he saw the psychedelic mural he'd painted on its sides. Dylan's father hated the thing - and for that reason alone, his son and his friends had done their best to keep it running for the past few years.

Gordon was late back from his gala, and of course he was going nowhere without any lunch, so it was mid-afternoon before Jeff taxied the plane along the runway and got it into the air. Not his prized private jet (with those little extra modifications) of course - Jeff wasn't going to let an amateur anywhere near that! No, this was the equivalent of a family runabout, the three oldest boys all having learned to fly in this very craft. There would be no worries about damaging a pristine interior for Virgil when he began work on the engine - years of transporting five boys had accounted for more than a little wear and tear on the seats and carpet. Jeff had often considered trading it in for a newer model, but all the family had a certain affection for the little plane and so he'd held onto it. He was thankful now, given his fourth son's slow progress in picking up the piloting skills that had come so naturally to everyone else. Anything more complex and the boy would probably have given up long ago.

After almost six months, Gordon still hadn't progressed beyond keeping the craft on course in the sky and Jeff was at a loss to explain why. Sure, Gordon's interests lay in the water, but even so, coming from a family of pilots, he thought that pride, if nothing else, would make his fourth-born keen to keep up with the others. Even Alan was desperately awaiting the day he could pick up his licence. If it wasn't for his grand plan, Jeff wouldn't have forced the issue. Not that he was going to insist that Gordon participate, but if he did, Jeff wanted his son to be as well-prepared as the others would be.

Virgil was also puzzled by Gordon's attitude. He liked to fly. He didn't love it the way Scott and his father did, but he enjoyed the technicalities of it, getting to know the particular idiosyncrasies of whatever craft he was flying. Okay, so he'd rather be up to his elbows in oil and fiddling with the engine, but testing out the work he'd done was good too. If nothing else, flying allowed him the time and space to think, to listen to music and to ponder a new audio or visual masterpiece - at least whilst the autopilot was engaged. A few near-misses during his own flying lessons had quickly cured him of that dangerous habit.

Gordon, however, simply saw it as a means to an end, and not a particularly essential one. He put up with his father's lessons, enjoying the chance to spend some time alone with the man, but he often managed to find an excuse to cancel the sessions that were booked for him with a local instructor.

"When I'm competing I'll be too focused on my swimming to think about flying," he'd said when Virgil had asked him about his lack of enthusiasm. "Anyway, I'd rather travel with the rest of the team, not go swanning around on my own like some spoilt rich kid. Some people think I've bought my way onto the team, you know - even my latest times don't convince them."

"But what about later?" Virgil had asked. "I mean, you're not going to be swimming forever, are you?"

Gordon had shrugged. "I don't know what I'm going to do yet," he'd said. "Maybe I'll become a coach or something. But I won't need to fly. I'd rather have a boat, anyway."

Virgil had said nothing, knowing that there were opportunities ahead that his teenage brother knew nothing of as yet.

"I don't get why you're so keen, anyway," Gordon had continued.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I get that you like the engineering side of it. Plus you always had to do whatever Scott did. No, don't glare at me like that, Virg. You know it's true."

"Didn't join the Air Force," Virgil had protested. "And I don't see Scott anywhere in Denver."

"Okay. So you're not a complete carbon copy of Scott. But anyway, you learnt to fly. I guess if you're going into Dad's business you'll need to jet all round the world like he does, anyway. But I didn't expect you to get so involved in it. I mean, why the helicopter pilot's licence? A jet's a lot more comfortable and practical for long-distance journeys. We haven't even got a chopper."

"Thought it would be useful." Virgil's non-committal reply had hidden a deeper meaning. He'd asked his father for the lessons for his eighteenth birthday in the belief that the more able he was to handle a variety of craft, the better it would be for him in the days ahead, especially given some of the discussions he'd been having with Brains about the most practical way of landing a king-sized aircraft. He couldn't tell his brother that, though. Nor could he suggest that Gordon take his flying lessons a little more seriously. Not without making him wonder why.

Gordon kept the plane in the air competently enough, though they didn't make the fastest of times. But they got to Kansas City without incident and Jeff talked Gordon through the procedures as he took over the controls and brought them in to land. Whilst Jeff replenished his caffeine levels and Gordon lost himself in some sports magazine, feet up on the console much to the despair of his father, Virgil headed off to pick up his engine part, grumbling about the time it had taken to get there.

"Be right back," he promised. But it was over twenty minutes later when the middle Tracy brother returned, a box in his hands and a look of irritation on his face.

"Don't worry, son," Jeff said, pulling the door closed and patting Virgil on the shoulder. "It'll be tight but we'll get you back in time. I'll take over if necessary."

"Don't bother rushing," Virgil told him, slumping into a seat. "Dylan called. The gig's off."

"What? Why?"

"Well, not the gig so much as the wedding."

Jeff dropped into the seat opposite his son. If anyone had told him that his expression right now was the image of the one his mother wore when the juciest piece of gossip was about to be revealed he'd have been mightily offended - even if he wouldn't have been able to deny it.

"Mindy ran off with one of the ushers."

"Well, your grandmother always said she was trouble," Jeff said. "Poor Carlton. Still, it probably saved him a fortune in alimony."

"Shame about tonight, though," Virgil said. "It might have been the last chance we ever got to play together."

"Well, maybe I can hold some function for the company before you all go back to college," Jeff suggested.

"Thanks Dad. You always save the day, you know that?" Virgil cheered up instantly.

"Well that's going to be your job soon. You and your brothers." Jeff's smile faded. "Some of them, anyway."

Virgil gestured towards the closed cockpit door. "You're not planning on telling him yet?"

"No." Jeff's expression grew serious. "When I first met Brains and realised that with his help my crazy idea might just have a chance of becoming reality, I hoped all you boys would come on board. But I never anticipated Gordon being so successful at his swimming."

"You should give him the choice, though," Virgil said.

"Oh, I will, but not just yet. Let him get the Olympics out of the way first. I don't want to distract him and I certainly don't expect him to follow my dreams at the expense of his own. I never looked back when I left NASA, but then I had you boys - well, Scott and John - plus your mother, and that was more than enough for me. A gold medal is different."

"Guess so." Virgil looked across at the engine unit which he'd dismantled on the flight down, ready to fit the new part and reassemble it all on the way back. "Well, I guess I might as well get on with this."

"Give me a call if you need a hand," Jeff said, smiling as Virgil rolled his eyes. His son was becoming an accomplished engineer, top of his class in Denver. He'd never get the public recognition some of his other sons would, but his value to the new organisation would never be in doubt.

A few minutes later and they were in the air again, Virgil humming one of his latest compositions as he began to reassemble the engine unit and Jeff wearily reminding Gordon of the appropriate protocol for talking to air traffic control. A lesser man would have given up, regardless of any secret plans, but Jeff had never been one to admit defeat and he refused to be beaten by a son. Not again, anyway - he'd discovered a nice set of bruises when he'd looked in the mirror that morning, courtesy of Virgil.

They were just over halfway home when an anguished yelp, followed by some cursing that would have scandalised Grandma, startled the pair in the cockpit.

Jeff leapt out of his seat and darted back into the cabin, throwing a quick command to Gordon to keep on course and not do anything on his own initiative!

"Everything okay?" he asked, relieved to find his son in one piece, though given the way he was sucking the side of his hand, there had apparently been some damage.

"Screwdriver slipped," Virgil told him, removing his hand from his mouth to do so.

Jeff reached into a locker for the first aid kit. "There you go," he said once he'd cleaned and dressed the wound. "It's minor."

"Hurt, though," Virgil told him.

"I'm sure it did. You want me to give you a hand?" Jeff asked. "It might be easier if I hold the thing in place."

Virgil admitted that this was probably a two-man job.

"I'll just set the auto-pilot," Jeff said, turning back to the cockpit door, only to be forced to grab onto a seat for balance as the plane suddenly juddered and lurched downwards.

"Gordon!" Both Jeff and Virgil dived for the cockpit where they found Gordon doing his best to pull the craft level.

"Birdstrike!" Gordon told them, the panic in his voice clear. "I couldn't avoid them, Dad. They came out of nowhere. I think the port engine's gone."

"Okay, son." Jeff was perfectly calm as he slid into the co-pilot's seat, only for a nervous tic to develop in the muscle of his jaw as he realised that the plane wasn't going to do what he wanted. "Virgil, take over from Gordon!"

Virgil did as he was told, Gordon hovering nervously behind them. Father and son managed to level the plane off, but it became clear that they needed to land - and fast.

"There's a field up ahead," Virgil said. "Room enough, I think."

"You're right. Gordon, get into the cabin and strap yourself in. Brace for an emergency landing."

For once in his life, Gordon did as he was told without argument.

At least, he tried to. As he reached the cabin the second engine gave out and he was thrown to the floor as the pilots once more battled to keep control.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry this is a bit late. Aside from it being a busy week (not in a bad way for once!), when I did finally find the time to write Gordon wouldn't cooperate. Thanks for the feedback on the last chapter, it means a lot. Guests, I appreciate the comments - thank you.**

Chapter Three

Jeff couldn't exactly say it was his best landing - the plane had hit the ground hard, skidding through the cornfields and ploughing through a fence before coming to a halt just feet away from some very startled cows. But under the circumstances he wasn't going to complain. They'd been lucky to come out of it as well as they had, though only Virgil had escaped unscathed. Jeff had wrenched his shoulder as he'd fought to keep control of the yoke, whilst Gordon had been thrown across the cabin, leaving him with a large bump on his head and a damaged knee.

Jeff and Virgil had been more worried about the head injury, but to Gordon, that was minor.

"I don't need my head to swim," he told them, pushing Virgil away as he tried to examine him. "But if my knee's busted I'm finished. I'll get kicked off the squad. I'll miss the Olympics."

"You'll be alright," Virgil told him. "It's not broken, Gords. It's just bruised."

"How would you know?" Gordon snapped as he pulled away from his brother. "Don't touch me, Virg, you'll make things worse."

"Hey, I know what I'm doing. I took the paramedics introductory course. I've got a certificate and everything. Tell him, Dad."

"Yes, Gordon, Virgil knows what he's doing. Let him take a look at you."

Gordon submitted, albeit reluctantly. "Why did you want to do that, anyway?" he asked. "Thought you were up to your eyes with college."

Jeff and Virgil exchanged a knowing look before the father headed back into the cockpit.

"Yeah, well, I thought it might come in useful," Virgil told his brother, reaching for the first aid kit his father had so recently used on him and searching for something to strap up his brother's injured leg.

"Like learning to fly a helicopter? You're a proper boy scout, aren't you, Virg? Ready for anything. I suppose you came top of the class in that, too."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Virgil was puzzled by his brother's angry tone. Gordon was usually the most easygoing of his brothers. Shock, he supposed, not to mention the effects of the bump on the head. Concussion, most likely. Well, it was good for Gordon to keep talking, but Virgil couldn't help wishing he wasn't the target of his brother's frustrations.

"Is there anything you're not good at?" Gordon asked.

"Well I wouldn't win any medals for swimming. You've been wiping the floor with me since you were about five."

"Yeah. And not just with you. With_ all_ of you - even Scott." Gordon brightened up just for a moment before his expression once more grew sulky. "You might get your chance now, though."

"Will you stop saying that? You'll be fine. It's a bruise, Gords. It'll hurt for a while but you'll be back in the pool within a week."

"Promise?"

"Sure."

Gordon reached out and gripped his brother's wrist - although thanks to his double-vision it took him two attempts.

"Look me in the eye and tell me that."

Virgil did so. "There, now do you believe me?"

"No."

"Thanks."

"I'll wait until a proper doctor tells me I'm okay."

"Right."

"How long's that going to be, anyway? Thought Dad was on the radio?"

Virgil cast a glance back at the cockpit door. At that moment their father appeared.

"The radio's shot," he announced.

"Great," Virgil sighed. "Tracker?"

"No signal there, either." Jeff was cradling his injured arm. "I'd take a look but I'd need two hands. Can you do it when you're finished with Gordon?"

"When I'm finished with both of you," Virgil said, indicating a nearby seat and returning to the first aid kit in search of a sling for his father.

Finally both Jeff and Gordon were settled in adjacent chairs and Virgil collected his toolkit, bits of which had been scattered around the cabin in the chaos of the landing. "Keep Gords talking, Dad," he instructed, concerned that his brother appeared to be falling asleep. He'd already had to slap him in order to wake him up - only to be rewarded with a retaliatory kick for his trouble.

"I will," Jeff said. "You know, I've got the perfect thing to get his attention. Too bad I don't dare risk it, not if we have to take him to hospital and he starts rambling."

"You'll think of something," Virgil said, before disappearing outside.

Jeff turned to his remaining son. Gordon's eyes had started to close again and only a sharp tap on the cheek from his father roused him.

"Come on, Gordon," Jeff said. "Talk to me. Tell me a story."

"Story?"

"Yes."

"Don't know any stories."

"You don't have to make one up. What about a memory? There must be something you can think of."

"Too tired."

"Well, you can't go to sleep, not until you've seen a doctor. Come on, tell me something about your brothers. You must know a few things I don't."

Sure enough, as Jeff had hoped, this thought roused Gordon and he laughed. "Lots of things."

"Things they wouldn't want me to know, I'm sure."

Gordon laughed again.

"You've thought of something."

"Yeah. Can't tell you, though."

"That's a shame. Tell you what, how about I do the talking? What about that time Grandma found you and Lily McGann-"

Gordon turned scarlet and spluttered something about it not being what it seemed. Jeff laughed - he didn't know as much as he'd implied but it had done the trick and Gordon was wide awake again.

Actually, Jeff decided, it was probably best he remained in ignorance about that one. But there were other secrets that he was curious about, one in particular, and if he was ever going to hear the whole story, surely now was the time.

"Tell me about what happened at the Morten farm, then."

Gordon looked at him in some surprise. "How do you know about that?"

"I'm your father, Gordon. You'd be surprised at what I know about all you boys."

"You mean Alan told you."

"Well, he might have let something slip, but I never did get the whole story. Come on. You need something to focus on to stop you from falling asleep, and it would take my mind off my arm."

"You won't kill me? Us?"

"Oh, no. I've got plans for all you. All of you. Anyway, it was years ago. You were... how old?"

"Eight."

"Eight. Well, since so much time has passed, what harm could there be in you telling me?"

"Okay." Gordon leaned his head back and took a moment to collect his thoughts. "Remember that Saturday morning when..."

* * *

_Nine years earlier..._

Saturday breakfasts in the Tracy household were chaotic affairs. At least during the week there was the deadline of school and buses to keep everyone in line, but on weekends Virgil was a lot harder to shift from his bed - in fact, unless there was a particular reason for getting him up, as there was today, they would just leave him there, even if it did mean he slept the day away, as had happened once or twice. However, four boys instead of five didn't mean any less noise - quite the opposite in fact, as Gordon and Alan, revelling in their one-day-only treat of sugary cereal, would often quarrel over which kind to have, not to mention doing all they could to beg, plead and cajole for second helpings. Then there were the lively debates (often escalating into full-blown arguments) about what they should do with their free time that day. Grandma put up with it, though she secretly longed for Monday, when not only would there be less fuss, but she could also look forward to a day's peace once all the boys were on their way to school.

At least with Jeff home, there was an extra pair of hands to keep the brothers in line and the father was certainly needed today. Virgil was extra-sulky, having been woken early since Jeff wanted to be out of the house by 9.30, whilst John, in the full throes of teenage angst, was even more bitterly sarcastic and critical than usual. The brothers had got on well enough until John hit thirteen, but now it didn't take much to set them off.

Sure enough, yet another argument kicked off - much to everyone's surprise, since Jeff's announcement that a travelling fair had pitched in a town twenty miles or so away and that he was going to take the younger boys down there for the day should have been greeted with cheers. As indeed, it was - from Gordon and Alan at least.

"What's wrong, Virgil?" Jeff asked. "Don't you want to go?"

Virgil shrugged. "Don't know. What are Scott and John doing?" As the middle child he'd found it paid to be flexible in matters like this - the older ones might be doing something equally, or indeed even more exciting and it didn't do to pick a side too early.

"Does it matter?" John asked. "Dad said he's taking 'the kids'. That's you."

"I'm not a kid."

"Yes, you are. Anyway, I don't want you hanging round with me."

Jeff and Grandma rolled their eyes as yet another argument seemed about to break out. "That's enough, John," his father said. "Virgil, I think your grandmother was planning to take the others into town. Of course, if that beats a day out with me, then I'm sure she won't mind you going along."

It wasn't much of a choice and Virgil quickly informed his father that he'd love to go with the younger boys. John still wasn't happy, though, the prospect of escorting Grandma around the local market distinctly unappealing, even if it did mean a visit to a favourite diner afterwards.

When Virgil poked his tongue out at his brother and asked if he wanted to join 'the kids', John wasn't impressed.

"I'd sooner poke my own eyes out than spend a day with you brats!" he whispered. He was sitting at the top of the table, Virgil across to his right. He had to lean close to his middle brother so that Grandma, who was sitting next to him, didn't hear.

But Virgil wasn't going to let his brother get away with that, making an exaggerated show of outrage as he announced to the entire table what John had just said.

"John!" Both Jeff and Grandma were scandalized.

"That's a terrible thing to say," Grandma chided.

Reddening under six disapproving gazes, John decided that keeping his mouth shut was the better option. Not that he was letting Virgil get away with it - if the brat thought he'd be able to get him into trouble with no comeback, he was in for a shock. Pulling back his leg, he aimed a hard kick at his brother.

Unfortunately for John, Virgil chose that moment to pull his legs under his chair. John's foot connected with a leg, alright, but it belonged to his grandmother, who gasped in surprise and pain.

The table erupted in fury as everyone realised what had happened. Virgil launched himself at his brother, ably seconded by Alan, who got in a few kicks of his own. Jeff had to pull the boys off, whilst Scott and Gordon comforted Grandma, who was more upset than injured.

"Okay," Jeff said, when order was more or less restored. "John, go to your room. You're grounded."

He waited for the usual retort of "_That's not fair!" _but it seemed John had realised that he'd gone too far this time and to his relief, his son - after an abject apology to Grandma - made his way upstairs.

"You three get your shoes and coats," Jeff said. "Don't talk to John and be back down here in two minutes."

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked his mother once the youngest three were gone .

"It's just a bruise." She got to her feet and winced as she put her weight on her leg. "He caught me right on my ankle. Scott, I'm not sure I'm up to walking around town. Would you mind if we didn't go? I know you wanted that new jacket."

"It's fine, Grandma." He blushed a little as he continued. "I guess I could go after school one day. One of the girls in my class works there in the evenings. She could help find something that looks good on me."

"They'd all look good on you, darling," his grandmother told him. "This young girl, she wouldn't be the Mary Kate you keep talking about, would it?"

"Definitely best if you go alone, then," Jeff said, with a wink at his mother. "When I was your age Mother was always embarrassing me in front of potential girlfriends."

Scott went an even deeper shade of red, much to the amusement of both adults. Muttering something about homework, he practically ran from the room.

"That was mean, Jeff," Grandma laughed, sinking back into her chair and rubbing her ankle. "Anyway, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I just wanted to make sure those girls were good enough for you."

"And none of them ever were," Jeff reminded her. "It's as well I didn't meet Lucy until I was stationed in California - you'd have scared her off like you did all the rest." He paused and sighed. "Seriously, though, are you alright? I'm so sorry about John."

"He didn't mean to hurt me, Jeff."

"No, but he meant to hurt Virgil. I should ground him too, but I hate to think what would happen if I left the pair of them shut up in the house together. Hopefully it'll have blown over by the time we get home."

"He'll grow out of it," Grandma said.

"By which time Virgil will have grown into it. And I hate to think what Gordon and Alan are going to be like..." Jeff shook his head, wondering - not for the first time - why he'd wanted five children.

Grandma couldn't fault John for his efforts to make up for his earlier behaviour. Once his father and younger brothers were safely out of the house, he'd come out of his room, made her coffee, done the washing-up, dusted the house from top to bottom, made more coffee, taken out the trash, weeded the rose garden and offered to prepare lunch. Grandma was about to insist that she'd spent far too long sitting around and that her ankle was perfectly fine now, when the phone rang.

John went to answer it. "It's Mrs Henshaw," he called.

"Oh." Grandma hurried to the phone. A few moments later she told the woman the other end, "I'll be right there," then replaced the receiver and called Scott and John. "Sally Henshaw's having her baby - a month early. Her sister's out of town so I'm going to look after the other little ones until she gets back. John, your father grounded you, remember. No leaving the house."

"No, Grandma."

"Scott, you're in charge. Keep an eye on your brother."

"Yes, Grandma."

Two minutes later Grandma was gone and John was searching the freezer for pizza. It wasn't the most sociable of lunches, Scott still angry with his brother for the hurt he'd inflicted on his grandmother.

"I don't need a babysitter, you know," John told him. "Why don't you go into town?"

"I'm alright. I've got work to do."

"Yeah, me too." John pushed back his chair, about to head back up to his room, only to be distracted by the ringing of the phone. Moving to answer it, with a surly, "Tracy house," his eyes suddenly lit up in a way that immediately caught Scott's attention. His teenage brother rarely smiled these days, and this was a very big smile, with more than a little calculation in it as the conversation went on.

Unfortunately for Scott, he couldn't hear much of what John was saying, not without making it obvious he was eavesdropping, and he knew from bitter experience that John wouldn't take too kindly to that sort of thing. Unwilling to risk any repetition of that morning's shenanigans, he stayed where he was, half-hidden behind the door, waiting to see what John was going to do.

He was relieved - and a little surprised - when John returned and announced that he was going up to his room where he'd follow his big brother's example and settle down to some schoolwork.

"_Extra_ schoolwork" he said smugly. "I did my homework last night."

One thing Scott had to admit was that teenage angst or not, John was more than keeping up with his studies. It helped that he seemed to be the brightest of all the boys, most subjects coming naturally to him. The only thing he was less competent in was sport.

Scott followed his brother up the stairs and watched him disappear into his room. He turned towards his own door then hesitated. There had been something in John's eyes that suggested his brother was up to something. Scott knew John too well to dismiss such a thought and after a moment's hesitation, he opened his own door, shutting it with more force than was strictly necessary, but without actually going through it - though he hoped John would believe he had. Instead, he crept back downstairs and waited in the alcove near the front door.

Sure enough, two minutes later, John came downstairs, pausing to pick up his jacket - a particularly lurid orange thing that Grandma had hated when they'd seen it in the store and which had therefore convinced John that he'd have to have it.

To say his brother was surprised when Scott grabbed his arm as he moved to open the door was an understatement. John's mouth fell open and whilst he tried to pull himself together, Scott was able to tighten his grip and steer him back to the living room.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

John tried to get away but there was never any way he was going to beat Scott when it came to strength.

"Tammi called. She wants me to meet her."

_"Tammi Davis?"_

"Yeah." John was on the defensive already. So what if the girl didn't come from a good family? She'd haunted his dreams for weeks now, though he'd been too shy to ask her out. When she'd made a move on him he'd been stunned. He'd never really expected her to call, so now that she had there was no way he was going to miss his chance. He tried to explain this to Scott, but his brother was having none of it.

"You're grounded."

"I'll be back before Dad and Grandma get home. Come on, Scott, I'm begging you. Just a couple of hours."

"You hurt Grandma."

"I didn't mean to. Look, I'll make it up to her. I'll even be nice to Virg - at least, I'll try. Please?"

Scott was tempted, he really was. He knew what it was like to be hopelessly obsessed with a girl. But John had gone too far that morning and besides, if his father or grandmother found out that he'd allowed his brother to leave the house he'd be in trouble himself - and given that he'd spent ages persuading his grandmother to allow him to go on a camping trip with some friends the following weekend, the last thing he wanted was to forfeit that particular privilege.

"Get upstairs." Scott didn't allow John any more time to protest, frogmarching his brother up the stairs and pushing him into his room. Reaching for the key, he pulled it out, shutting the door and locking it from the outside.

"Sorry, Johnny," he muttered.

Ignoring John's yells of protest, dire predictions of fire and a horrible death, the guilt of which would torment Scott for the rest of his life and beyond, and finally, a vicious attempt to kick the door down, Scott waited for the tirade to subside. Eventually it did and John gave up, instead turning his music on as loud as it would go.

Scott went back to his room and closed the door, turning his own music on to drown out the sound of John's. His brother would hate him, that was for sure, but it might take the heat off Virgil for a bit and anyway, if the girl was worth it, she'd wait for another opportunity. Or maybe not, but then, the Davis girl was bad news and Scott couldn't help but think he'd done his brother a favour, even if John wouldn't see it that way.

Well, he'd worry about that later. There was work to do and if he was going to be allowed on that camping trip he'd need to be sure he was up to date with his schoolwork.

Ten minutes later, Scott was finally settled at his desk, doing his best to push aside the distracting thoughts of Mary Kate in order to focus on _King Lear_. He wasn't having much luck and so he leaned back in his chair and allowed his gaze to drift out of the window.

His room was at the back of the house, looking out over some fields. It was a nice enough view, but not the most dynamic, the rippling of the corn in the breeze usually providing the only movement. But not today. A flash of orange caught Scott's eye and suddenly he was on his feet and shoving the window open, knowing even as he yelled his brother's name that John was too far away to hear him - and that he wouldn't come back even if he did.

How had John got out? Rushing to his brother's door, Scott found it still shut and locked. Turning the key and moving inside, Scott soon got his answer. The window was open. John must have climbed down the apple tree, risking life and limb to reach out to the nearest branch. He really had been desperate to see this girl, Scott thought.

Well, there was no point going after him. He'd got too much of a head start and anyway, Scott had no idea where he was headed. Once he made it to the road he could go in several directions. No, John could have his little adventure, but he'd have to deal with the consequences later.

Because if Dad or Grandma didn't kill him, Scott would.


	4. Chapter 4

_Another busy week so this isn't as long as I'd hoped but I didn't want to be late updating again. There'll be a bit more action next time. Thanks to everyone who responded to and reviewed the last chapter. I really do appreciate it. Whirlgirl, Pippalina, I can't reply in person, but thank you so much for the reviews._

Chapter Four

As much as Scott tried to convince himself that he didn't care what happened to John, it didn't work. His essay remained unfinished and no amount of worrying about losing the chance to go on his camping trip the following weekend if he fell behind with his schoolwork could motivate him to pick up his copy of _King Lear._

He couldn't even call his brother on his phone, John having had his confiscated for a week just a few days' earlier. He wondered if he should head out and try to look for him, but he didn't know where Tammi Davis and her friends hung out - only that it wasn't in any of the usual places. Certainly he'd never seen them anywhere around town. He'd heard rumours about their escapades, though - and none of them had been good. He just hoped John had the sense not to get involved in anything that might land him in trouble, though he wasn't optimistic. The Tracy moral code might be as deeply ingrained in his brother as it was in the rest of them, but John was naturally curious and defiant - and currently caught up in a bad case of teenage hormones.

_Where are you, Johnny?_ Scott thought to himself, once again scouring the fields for any sign of his brother returning.

The sound of a car crunching on gravel surprised him. His grandmother, he surmised. It was too early for it to be his father and younger brothers. In a way he was relieved. Grandma would understand that he wouldn't have been able to stop John disappearing if he'd been determined to do so. His father, on the other hand, would have been annoyed. Despite the deep affection he felt for all his boys, Jeff Tracy liked the family home to be run along military lines and Scott, as second-in-command, was responsible for his 'men'. It was a lot of pressure for a fifteen-year-old and sometimes Scott wished he possessed John's sense of rebellion.

He left his room and waited at the top of the stairs for his grandmother to open the door. But even before it opened, he realised that it wasn't Grandma after all. It was his father, and his heart sank.

But it seemed that the elder boys were the last thing on Jeff Tracy's mind right now. Though muffled by the door, Scott could still make out the sound of someone crying, his father's irritated voice snapping back at them.

_Great_, Scott thought. Something terrible must have happened for the trip to the fair to have been cut short. His father was obviously in a bad mood and Scott was just going to make things worse as soon as he broke the news that John had gone AWOL. He'd feel the edge of his father's tongue, that was for sure. And as for what the man would do to John...

"Mom?" Jeff's voice echoed through the house as he pulled a whining Alan inside, tutting at his other two sons for their tardiness in getting inside.

"She's out," Scott said, making his way down the stairs. "You're back early," he said tentatively.

"Trouble at work," Jeff replied tersely. "Unfortunate, but I had no choice other than to cut the trip short."

It was lucky for Gordon that his father didn't see the face he pulled at this statement, nor the kick Virgil aimed at the wall.

"I've got to get down to the factory, Scott. More than likely I'll be there all night. By the time I've pacified my client, arranged an emergency nightshift and reprogrammed the machinery with the _right _measurements... I want to make sure everything works out this time. Where did you say my mother went?"

Scott explained. "She shouldn't be long," he said.

"Your brother behaving?" Jeff asked, frowning as he looked around for his second son.

"Oh, you know John," Scott said, mentally crossing his fingers and excusing himself with the thought that he was simply saving his father from a lot more stress. "He's always happy when he's shut in his room with his head buried in a book. I've hardly seen him." Well, it was almost the truth...

Jeff took a step towards the stairs, only for Scott to move in front of him. "Go on, Dad," he said. "Sounds like you're needed at work. I'll take care of the boys."

"Thanks, Scott," Jeff said. "If we don't lose that contract it'll be a miracle, not to mention the damages we'll have to pay. You're sure you'll be okay till Grandma gets home? Alan hasn't stopped complaining since we left and the others aren't in the best of moods. You could be in for a hard time of it."

"I'll manage," Scott told him.

"Order pizza," Jeff said, pulling out his wallet and shoving a handful of notes at Scott before turning to his three youngest. "Boys, I'll make it up to you, I promise."

With that, he was gone.

The delight Scott felt at John's absence miraculously remaining undiscovered was short-lived. Three unhappy little boys who had known better than to play up too much in front of a stressed and short-tempered father, had no such reservations in making their feelings known to their eldest brother.

"He only cares about that stupid factory," Virgil declared, before stomping into the living room in order to take his bad mood out on the piano.

"Daddy's mean!" Alan said, sniffing pathetically.

Despite the fact that Scott knew his father would have done his best to explain the situation to his sons, he mentally prepared his own little speech, holding back for a moment to let Gordon have his say. But he was surprised at the words that came out of his brother's mouth.

"It's your fault too, Al," Gordon told his younger brother.

Alan's sniffles turned to tears and he moved in closer to a bewildered Scott, who gave him the hug he demanded before turning back to Gordon. This was all he needed. Having the boys mad at their dad was one thing, but having to deal with them fighting amongst themselves was a much bigger challenge.

"How is it Allie's fault?" he asked.

"Donny and his family were there. They offered to let us stay with them, but Alan had just been sick - twice - so Dad said it would be too much trouble for them."

"Waltzers got him again, did they?" Scott asked. "Gords, you used to be the same. Look, I know it's disappointing, but it can't be helped. You know how hard Dad works to give us all this."

Fighting to make himself heard over the loud thump of the piano, Scott did his best, but his brothers weren't having any of it. In the end he gave up, deciding that his father would have to sort it out himself. There were other methods of distraction available to him, though, and he waved the money Jeff had given him at his brothers. "Go get the menu for the pizza place and I'll let the two of you choose."

It wasn't much consolation, but Gordon and Alan, knowing that Scott was as helpless in this situation as they were, did as they were told, disappearing into the kitchen.

All thoughts of John forgotten for the moment, Scott leaned against the wall and sighed. He just hoped his grandmother got back soon.

But she didn't. They were eagerly looking out for the pizza delivery boy when the phone rang. Scott grabbed it before any of his brothers could get to it, just in case it was his father checking up on them. The man certainly wouldn't want to face another round of complaints. But it was Grandma, and she was horrified to hear that the boys were home alone.

"I can't come back, Scott," she told him. "Mrs Henshaw's sister fell as she was getting off the bus. She's in hospital with a broken ankle. I'm going to have to stay here with the children."

"Don't worry, Grandma," Scott told her. He meant it, too. She'd done John a favour, that was for sure. Maybe his little trip could remain a secret from the adults in the family - as long as the younger ones didn't tell on him, of course. Up till now they'd been full of tales of the fair and moans about their disappointment when they'd been dragged away from it. If they'd thought of John at all, they'd probably assumed he was keeping well away from them simply for a bit of peace and quiet, but Scott knew that once the pizza arrived and John was still nowhere to be seen, they'd definitely notice their brother's absence. He just hoped John arrived before the food. Surely he wouldn't be much longer.

But John didn't arrive.

The pizza did, and of course, that alerted the three youngest to the problem. Alan scampered up to John's room before Scott could stop him and soon they all knew their brother had gone.

"Good," Gordon said, still annoyed at the injury done to his beloved grandmother that morning. "Serves him right if the pizza's eaten before he gets back."

"Dad's going to kill him," Virgil said, cheerfully.

Scott sighed. "I suppose you're going to tell him?"

"'Course I am. I hate him. He kicked Grandma, Scott."

"He didn't mean to."

"No, he was aiming at _me. _ So why would I cover for him?"

"Because Dad will blame me for not keeping an eye on him," Scott said, looking Virgil straight in the eye. It was no secret that his middle brother worshipped the ground he walked on, but there were times when even he couldn't stop Virgil doing something. He just hoped this wasn't going to be one of those times.

"That's not fair," Virgil said. "How could you stop him going out the window?"

"You know what Dad's like," Scott said. "He might stop me going on that camping trip."

He held his breath, hoping he hadn't just given Virgil an additional reason to tell on their brother. Virgil could be awkward when Scott wanted some time to himself and he hadn't been too happy at the prospect of a whole weekend without him. "Virg...?" he asked, waiting to see what the eleven-year-old's response would be.

He never found out. At that moment the phone rang and once again he dived to reach it before any of the others.

"John there?" the voice on the other end of the line asked.

It took Scott a moment to realise that it was Tammi, the girl John was supposed to have been meeting. "Tammi? I thought he was with you."

There was silence for a moment. "He was," she finally said. Her voice dropped to a whisper but Scott couldn't catch her words as the others chose that moment to start fighting over who got the last slice of pizza.

_"Will you kids shut up?"_ Scott rarely yelled at his brothers, but the stunned silence that followed allowed him to turn his attention back to the telephone. "What happened? Where's John?"

"We got... well, there was a bit of trouble and we had to make a run for it. John didn't meet up with us afterwards, so I thought he'd gone home."

"Who's 'us'?"

Tammi named some of the worst troublemakers from their school and Scott's heart sank. No wonder there had been trouble.

"Where were you?"

"The Morten farm. We wanted to see if the rumours were true. I dared John to go and look through a window, but just as he got there this pack of dogs came charging up. That's when we ran away. Maybe they caught John. Or maybe _he _did." There was a spark of excitement in Tammi's voice and Scott found himself disliking her more than ever.

"When was this?"

"About an hour ago."

"And you didn't go back to look for him?" he asked.

"I told you, I thought he'd gone home."

"Can you go now?"

"Are you kidding? I'm heading home. I'm on a curfew and I'm not risking another beating from my dad."

Not for the first time in his life, Scott was grateful that Jeff Tracy was his father. "What about the others?"

"It's Saturday. They'll be in town. But it'll be dark soon. You won't catch them going anywhere near that place at night."

"Thanks for nothing," Scott said, slamming the phone down. Now what? The police? But that would cause nothing but trouble and his father would certainly have to be told. He didn't need the distraction and the consequences for John would be dire. Scott would be in for it too - he'd have to admit to having deceived his father about John's whereabouts. He could wave the camping trip goodbye. No, his father was best kept out of it for now. Grandma? She'd just worry and there wouldn't be anything she could do anyway, not with two under-fives to take care of. She'd probably call the police herself.

No, it was up to him. But he had baggage of his own. He looked at his three brothers once again. Virgil wasn't old enough to look after the others - and Scott wanted the house to still be standing when he got John home so he could shut him up in it and make sure he never did anything like this again.

"Get your coats," he finally said. "We're going to find John."


	5. Chapter 5

_This is the first time in ages that I've managed an update in less than a week! Thanks to everyone for the reviews, favourites and follows, I really do appreciate them. Pippalina, thank you. Whirlgirl, that might be the last bit of luck Scott has for a while..._

Chapter Five

Gordon paused, reaching out for the bottle of water Virgil had left for him. But even after he'd taken a few sips, he didn't continue, the long silence eventually prompting his father to reach out and shake his shoulder.

"Gordon?"

"I'm alright, Dad." Gordon might not have his brother's hitherto unknown prowess in first aid, but he knew enough about concussion to know what his father was worrying about. "Haven't lost my memory, either. Though I think this bang on the head must have had some kind of effect on me if I'm actually telling you all this. I'm incriminating myself, aren't I?"

Jeff smiled. "Well, enough time's passed for me to be sure there was no real harm done so you're _probably _off the hook... But so far you've only incriminated your brothers. Come on, I want to know what happened next. How on earth did Scott persuade you three to go with him to the Morten farm? That place had a bad enough reputation when I was a boy and it only got worse over the years."

"Yeah, well, he didn't actually tell us where we were headed. And by the time we realised, it was too late..."

* * *

If nothing else, events had conspired to stop Alan complaining about his father. Not that he'd stopped whining, of course. Now it was his two oldest brothers who were in the firing line.

"Stupid Johnny! I'm _tired,_ Scotty. You're going too fast."

Scott gritted his teeth and tried to slow his pace, forcing himself to remember that his brothers had much shorter legs than he did. Virgil, at least, was keeping up, though he'd had to break into a jog to stay level with his brother. But Gordon and Alan were lagging behind, and the frustration he felt whenever he had to stop to let them catch up was almost more than he could bear.

"Carry me!" Alan commanded.

Figuring it would at least put an end to all the moaning, even if the extra weight would slow him down a bit, Scott did as he was bid. But although the action shut Alan up, it simply wound Virgil and Gordon up, the younger of the pair complaining that his legs were hurting too, but _he_ wasn't a baby anymore so he didn't need anyone to carry him. Virgil, whilst secretly grateful of the chance to slow down a bit, couldn't help feeling annoyed that Alan had taken away what little attention Scott had left to give him in his concern over John.

"Where are we going, anyway?" he asked, once again.

Scott pretended to be too busy fussing with Alan to reply. In the end, Virgil drifted back to walk with Gordon, the pair spending a satisfying few minutes discussing all the things that irritated them about both their blond brothers.

Up till now, they'd been walking along a back road which ran along the edge of the town. But when they drew level with the entrance to a field, barred by a large rusty gate which was looped with chains and decorated with an oversized 'Keep Out' sign - hanging at an awkward angle as one fastening had come undone - Scott stopped.

"What? _No!"_ Virgil and Gordon both backed away as it became clear that this was their destination. Alan would have joined them if he hadn't been on Scott's shoulders. Even so, he tried to scramble down, kicking Scott in the head in the process and making his ears ring. The eldest brother had to grab onto him quickly to stop him falling.

Getting a better grip on his struggling brother, Scott swung him over the gate and placed him firmly down on the other side. Ignoring the protests this action elicited, he called his other brothers back.

"Come, on, guys, John's somewhere in there. We've got to find him. I'll look after you, I promise, but we need to keep moving."

"But..." Virgil's lip was trembling. Even Scott's promise didn't convince him.

"Come on, Virg. You're not going to let me down, are you?" Scott hated himself for doing it, but he deliberately took full advantage of his middle brother's hero-worship of him. "I need your help, kid. I know you're brave enough to do this. Show the others how it's done. For me?"

Virgil looked doubtful, but Scott's hold over him was too strong and he reached out to climb the gate. Scott boosted him over. "Knew I could rely on you," he said, squeezing his brother's shoulder. "Look after Allie while I get Gordon."

Getting Gordon was easier said than done, however. Scott had to chase him down the road before he could grab him and carry him back. He held on tight, but even so, Gordon nearly managed to struggle free, kicking and hollering all the way. It was a relief to Scott when he could set him down next to his two brothers.

Swinging himself over the gate, he dropped to his knees and gathered three frightened boys to him.

"Listen, guys, don't be scared. All those rumours about this place are just that - rumours. The house isn't haunted, there's no such thing as ghosts. It's just an old house. Got it?"

"It's not the house I'm scared of," Virgil admitted. "It's _him."_

Scott wished he could answer his brother honestly this time. But truth be told, he was more than a little nervous himself at the prospect of encountering the owner of the farm. John must really be into Tammi, he thought, if he was willing to go to such lengths to impress her.

"Kurt Morten's just an old man," he said, hoping he sounded convincing. "Okay, so he's a little strange. But that doesn't mean he's a vampire or a zombie or a mad axe-murderer or any of the other things people accuse him of."

"How do you know?" Gordon asked. "There was that boy who-"

"Rumours, Gords. I told you." Scott didn't know which of the many stories Gordon was about to dredge up, but he could see Alan getting more and more worked up and the last thing he needed was a full-blown panic attack.

"So why didn't Johnny come home?"

"I don't know." It scared him to think about all the things that could have happened to his brother. "But it doesn't mean that Kurt Morten's done anything to him. John's probably just got himself lost somewhere. You know our brother - he's not good with the great outdoors, not like us. Now give him a library or a bank of computers and he'd be in his element. But we need to go and see what's happened to him. We're Tracys, remember? We stick together."

"All for one and one for all?" Virgil said, though the well-worn phrase lacked the enthusiasm the eleven-year-old usually put into it.

"That's it, Virg." Scott felt immeasurably guilty at putting his brother through this, but at least Virgil's natural desire to please his oldest brother was reasserting itself. He was more than grateful that Virgil wasn't using John's treatment of Grandma as a reason why they should let him get himself out of whatever mess he'd got into, though once they got safely home - Scott refused to believe there would be any other outcome to this situation - that was bound to change. Still, he'd worry about that later. Right now, there were two other brothers to talk round - and they weren't likely to cave as easily as Virgil.

Sure enough, the two youngest were terrified at the prospect of approaching the place they'd always been warned to stay away from. Scott's insistence that Grandma and their father didn't want them near it because it was run-down and dangerous, didn't work. They continued to insist that it was their peers who had it right, that it was a place of evil and that Kurt Morten, if not the devil himself, was certainly in league with him.

"Even the name means death!" Gordon protested. "Mort. We did it in school."

Scott sighed. Trust Gordon to choose that moment to start listening to his teachers. "It's just a name. Like 'Tracy'. How often have you been teased about having a girl's name, Gordon? You can't help that, and neither can Kurt Morten. I'm sorry I dragged you out here but there's no way I could leave you home by yourselves. Believe me, you'd be in far more danger there than you ever would here. Look, I won't make you go up to the house, okay? Kurt Morten will never know you're there. I'll go and have a quick look around for John, and then if I can't find him-"

"You won't," Gordon insisted. "Unless he's been turned into a vampire too and he comes after you."

"Enough! " Scott really had had enough. There was clearly only one way to convince Gordon that there was nothing evil lurking in the Morten house, and that was to get down there, find John and get safely out of there - and that wasn't going to happen if they stayed by the gate arguing.

"Come on," he said, walking away. Virgil hesitated for a moment, then obediently trotted after him.

Alan's wails at being left behind didn't deter Scott. Sure enough, his strategy proved effective, because a few seconds later, the little boy yelled at his brothers to wait and began running after them.

"Staying by yourself?" Scott called, hoisting Alan back onto his shoulders. "It'll be dark soon," he commented, turning away from Gordon and making to set off again, only to almost trip over Virgil, who had moved right up close to him at this comment.

Gordon was clearly thinking about it, but in the end the protection offered by his brothers proved stronger than the desire to stay as far away from the house as he could. Anyway, he reasoned, he was on Morten land now, and the man could surely get him wherever he was.

Resignedly, he set off after his brothers.

It was hard to believe, but when Grandma was a girl the Morten farm had been one of the finest in the state. But old Mr Morten had died and his son was no farmer. Reclusive in nature, Kurt Morten had shut himself off completely. Over the years land had been sold off to pay the bills until only a few acres remained. In the distance they could see a few skinny cows, but the field they were walking through had been left to nature and was overgrown with weeds, the ground uneven and rutted. Gordon tripped and fell twice, just confirming his view that they weren't welcome there. Scott stumbled too, and debated setting Alan down, worried about his brother being hurt if he fell, but the protests from the six-year-old decided him against it. He needed Alan to be quiet - if Kurt Morten heard them approaching they'd be in trouble. The man - and he _was _a man, despite the stories; Scott was sure about that - wouldn't take kindly to anyone trespassing on his land.

Maybe John had already found that out...

Scott was suddenly struck by the enormity of what he was doing. Bad enough that _he_ was scared - yes, he admitted it, he was scared alright - but he was scaring his brothers too. What was he doing? Why hadn't he thought this through properly? He should have told someone when he had the chance so that help could have got to John sooner. If they hadn't been so close, and if he hadn't been so worried about his brother, Scott would have turned back. But it was too late, they were almost at the house.

No wonder there were so many wild stories about the place, Scott thought, as he finally got a proper look at it. It was as neglected as the fields, paintwork faded and flaking, wooden panels rotting, a hole in the roof near the crumbling chimney and the windows either shuttered or barred. It was dusk now, but there were no lights to be seen inside. If he hadn't known it was inhabited he'd have sworn it had been abandoned years ago.

He settled his brothers behind a hedge with strict instructions to stay where they were and wait for him to come back. "I won't be long," he promised. "I'll have a quick look for John, then if I can't find him I'll come back for you and we'll call Dad. Okay?"

"Be careful, Scott," Virgil told him.

"I will. You look after the boys. Gordon, Alan, do what Virg tells you, alright?" He did his best to disentangle Alan's fingers from his jacket, in the end having to hold the boy's hands in his in order to be able to edge far enough away to make a run for it.

He gave them a final cheery wave and a smile, then turned towards the house, his smile immediately vanishing. He sneaked along the hedge until he came to a gap big enough to squeeze through. Holding his breath, he listened out for the dogs, but it was all quiet.

Too quiet.

Living in a house with four younger brothers, Scott was used to noise, to those comfortable sounds of everyday life: the piano, computer games, doors slamming, running footsteps, cheers, laughter, arguments, those random bangs and crashes which sometimes came from Gordon's room for no apparent reason... There was nothing alive about this place and Scott had to make a real effort to shake off the feeling of foreboding.

As he pushed through the hedge, emerging into the overgrown yard, he almost fell as he tripped over what turned out to be a rusty old rake, half-buried under the weeds which covered the ground. He let out a yelp of surprise, then held his breath, tensed and ready to run if the sound had alerted the dogs. But still there was nothing.

After a moment he set off again, uneasy about actually running, just in case there were any more unseen obstacles lying in wait, but moving quickly all the same.

Closer to the house was a vegetable patch. It was more or less clear of weeds, but the plants that grew there were straggly and yellowing. A couple of misshapen pumpkins made Scott shudder and he was glad his brothers weren't here to make the obvious connections with Hallowe'en.

Reaching the edge of the house, Scott peered through a window, but the panes were too grimy for him to see anything. He just hoped no one inside could see him.

It seemed no one could, because Scott managed to do a whole circuit of the house without being discovered - but without finding his brother. He'd found the dogs, but they were apparently chained up, because although they set up a wild barking when they detected his presence, they didn't come running.

Kurt Morten did - at least Scott assumed it was Kurt Morten, even though he didn't see him. He'd dived around the next corner of the house, only to nearly have a heart-attack when a ginger ball of fur shot past him.

"Damn cat!" a gruff voice muttered, before it rose to yell at the dogs to keep quiet, that it was only a cat and that they'd be in for it if they didn't stop that infernal racket.

Unable to believe his narrow escape and sending a mental thank you to the cat for its fortuitous appearance, Scott continued his circuit around the house, eventually arriving back where he started, with still no sign of John.

He'd have to go, he decided. He'd been ten minutes already and the kids must be going frantic. Looking over at the hedge, he saw a blond head peeking over and guessed that Gordon and Virgil must be holding Alan up in the hope of getting some idea what was going on. He gave his brother the thumbs down, hoping the message conveyed both his failure to find John and his annoyance at the boys potentially giving their presence away.

He took one last, frustrated look up at the house. _"Where the hell are you, Johnny?"_ he whispered.

The last thing he expected was an answer.

_"Scott?"_

It took Scott a moment to recover from the shock, another to appreciate the relief that flooded through him at the realisation that he'd found his brother, and yet another to try to work out where John's voice was coming from.

_"I'm down here." _Like his brother, John was whispering.

It was enough for Scott to finally get his bearings. A tiny cracked window at the very foot of the wall indicated the presence of a cellar and Scott dropped to his knees beside it, pushing it open. There wasn't enough light for him to see anything except a flash of blond hair. It was unmistakeably John.

"Am I glad to see you." It was a tight fit, but Scott managed to get his head and shoulders through the window.

"Same here. How did you know where to find me?"

"Tammi called to see if you made it home."

"She did?" Despite everything John sounded pleased.

Scott resisted the temptation to point out that it was Tammi's fault that he was in this situation in the first place. He'd save it for later. "Why didn't you come out?" he asked. "The dogs are tied up."

"Can't. I dived in here to escape them and hurt my wrist when I fell. I need two hands to get up there. There's a door, but it's locked."

It was quite a drop to the ground, alright. Scott stretched out his hands, but John couldn't quite reach and Scott was wary of overbalancing and falling himself. Deciding the best way round the problem was to go down and help his brother up, he pulled out of the window, turned around and slithered down feet first, dropping lightly to the ground to be greeted by a clearly relieved John. Scott wasn't sure whether to hug him or punch him, and anyway, either option - or maybe both - could wait until they were safely home. Instead he concentrated on getting his brother out of there.

"Nearly there," John muttered as, with Scott's help, he edged ever closer to the window. "I owe, you, Scott."

"Sure do."

"I'll- _Whoah!"_

Scott was so surprised when his brother yelled that he barely had the presence of mind to catch him as he tumbled towards the floor. He knew John's terrified expression was mirrored on his own face as he heard the unmistakeable sound of a shotgun's safety catch being released. Both boys turned to look at the window, where there was enough light for them to see the outline of the barrel and a shadowy figure holding it.

"Got you."

John and Scott looked at each other in horror. Were they about to join the ranks of those rumoured to have mysteriously disappeared after trespassing on the Morten property?

But Kurt Morten didn't seem inclined to fire his weapon. Instead, it was pulled away and they could hear the sound of him muttering, though the words were inaudible. But any relief they felt at the removal of the gun was short-lived. All of a sudden the cellar went completely dark. The sound of a hammer hitting nails made it clear that Morten was boarding up the window.

They were trapped.


	6. Chapter 6

_Sorry this is late - blame the boys! I can't remember them ever giving me more trouble than they did with this chapter. (Well, except Virg - he knew exactly what he wanted to do!) Anyway, after numerous rewrites and edits, it's done. _

_Thank you so much for the response to the last chapter, I really do appreciate it__. Special thanks to all those I can't reply to in person. (Pipe DReam, the boys are 15, 13, 11, 8 and 6.)_

Chapter Six

The absolute panic Scott felt at being boarded up in a pitch-black cellar was nothing compared to his feelings when he realised that however desperate his own situation might be, right now it was _outside _where the real danger lay. His brothers were out there, alone and defenceless, along with an armed man who, if not actually insane, was certainly dangerous. What he'd do to his brothers if he found them didn't bear thinking about.

Scott scrambled frantically up to the window, but the piece of wood Morten had blocked it with was thick and solid enough to withstand all his adrenaline-fuelled efforts to knock it away. Punching it didn't work, neither did screaming and swearing at it. Still, he did both, until his knuckles bled and his voice was reduced to a painful rasp.

"Scott! _Scott_, stop it! It's no good."

Scott finally became aware that John was tugging at his ankle from his position down on the ground. He gave the panel one last, desperate shove, then admitted defeat, dropping to the ground where his brother clutched at him in relief. He'd never seen Scott lose control like that before and the sight didn't do anything to assuage his own fears.

"You scared me."

If John was looking for comfort, he didn't get it. Scott had just enough voice left to vent his frustrations on the brother who'd been the cause of all this in the first place.

"_You're_ scared? How do you think our brothers feel right now? Virg, Gordon, Alan... They're out there, John. With him."

"You brought the kids _here_?" John's own fears were forgotten in the face of this news.

"What else was I supposed to do?" Scott felt his temper growing in the face of his brother's implied criticism. "Dad had to go to work and I could hardly leave them on their own while I came running after you, could I?"

"Sorry," John said, and he sounded genuinely contrite. There was a long pause before he spoke again. "What are we going to do? Will the boys be able to call for help?"

Wondering why he hadn't thought of it before, Scott fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his phone. A second later, the light from the device illuminated their surroundings and he could finally get a good look at the cellar.

He decided he'd preferred it in the dark. The cellar was cold and damp and now he could see the reason why. There must have been a leaking pipe somewhere above, since water was dripping from the ceiling, collecting in a puddle on the floor. That entire part of the cellar was black with mould.

A sudden rustle, a squeak, and the pattering of clawed feet nearly made Scott drop the phone.

Rats.

Well, it was hardly surprising in a place like this. Their nest seemed to be in one of the large piles of old newspapers which were stacked up in the middle of the room. Indeed, there were so many of them that there wasn't a whole lot of space to move around.

A shape in the corner made his heart leap and he directed the light onto it with trembling hands before realising it was a pile of rags, not a body.

"Scott?"

Shaking himself - John had been in the cellar by himself for a couple of hours already, and if there had been anything there he'd already have warned him - Scott turned to face his brother.

"I'll do it." John told him.

"Huh?" Scott blinked at his brother in confusion.

"I'll call Dad. It's my fault." John had never sounded less enthusiastic about anything and Scott didn't blame him. His father was going to kill him - both of them. So much for his efforts to protect his brother and keep them both out of trouble. All he'd done was put everyone in danger. If they got out of here he'd probably be grounded longer than John.

He handed the phone over wordlessly.

John pressed a few buttons, but then, instead of holding the phone to his ear, continued to stare at the display.

"Scott..."

"What?"

"There's no signal."

"That's impossible." It was. These days, communications technology was such that pretty much the only way you could fail to pick up a signal was if something was actively blocking one. It was unlikely that Kurt Morten would have anything like that. Scott's quick tour of the place had made it quite clear that what little machinery there was, was antiquated and in many cases, broken and useless.

But what else could cut them off from the outside world, from any source of help? Nothing natural, that was for sure, and Scott shivered, those stories he'd so casually dismissed a while earlier coming back to him in all their sinister detail. What was Kurt Morten going to do to him and his brother? Would he do anything at all for that matter? Would he just leave them there to rot...?

Forcing himself to get a grip, he pulled the phone out of his brother's hand. Sure enough there was nothing. He tried to put the call through anyway, but the dead air he got in response just confirmed the device was useless.

"You sure there's no other way out?"

John insisted the door was firmly locked, but Scott went over to check anyway. His brother was right, it was locked from the outside.

"Maybe there's something in here we can use to break out," John suggested.

Scott took a closer look around, keeping as far away from the rats as he could as he flashed the phone's light over the floor, walls and ceiling. There was nothing useful, but the discovery of a pile of rusty old chains in one corner, along with a few vicious-looking animal traps, made him shudder.

"This place gives me the creeps," John muttered, his thoughts apparently running along the same lines as his brother's. "I hope the kids don't take too long to get some help."

Scott hoped so too, but the fact that Kurt Morten hadn't come down to confront his hostages suggested that he had other things to occupy himself with right now - like three terrified little boys.

* * *

Well,_ two _of them were terrified... The third was just plain furious.

They'd run excitedly to the gap in the hedge once they'd realised Scott had found John, expecting to meet their two eldest brothers, but instead getting a perfect view of Kurt Morten as he'd shuffled along to the window. Alan had squealed a warning before Virgil had clamped a hand over his mouth, but Morten hadn't reacted, he'd just kept right on going.

They'd watched in a horror which hadn't lessened when Morten had put his gun down and reached for the hammer that hung from his tool-belt. Too late, they'd realised what he had planned, and it was then that Virgil had decided it was time to act.

But before he could get all the way through the hedge, not knowing what he was going to do, but determined to stop his brothers becoming entombed in the cellar, the other two had grabbed him and dragged him back. Off-balance, since he'd been in the process of swinging one leg over a branch, he tumbled backwards, the breath knocked out of him both by the landing and by Alan flinging himself on top of him. He kicked and squirmed and did his utmost to get away from the clutches of his younger brothers, but the growth spurt which would see him become the biggest and strongest of the five Tracy brothers was still a couple of years away. Small for his age, he wasn't able to fight off the combined forces of Gordon and Alan. Not that he didn't try, not caring if he hurt them, so desperate was he to get to Scott.

Gordon and Alan, for their part, were too terrified to let go of the oldest brother they had left. Neither were thinking clearly enough to know whether they were more scared of Kurt Morten or of being left alone, but whatever the reason, it was enough for them to cling to Virgil with all their might.

Virgil finally managed to break free, making it to his knees before he was tackled once again, this time both Gordon and Alan sitting on him to hold him down.,

"Get off me!" Virgil hissed. "I need to help Scott."

"He'll get you too!" Alan wailed.

Vigil had already decided it was a risk worth taking and once again he tried to shove his brothers off before accepting he was fighting a losing battle. Collecting his thoughts, he tried a different tactic, stopping his struggles and lying still. Feeling his brothers finally relax, he gathered all his strength and pushed hard against them, this time managing to send Alan tumbling into the dirt. He used the advantage the surprise attack had given him to grab Gordon and push him off too, jumping to his feet and getting all of three steps closer to the hedge before they managed to knock him to the ground again.

"Virg, _please,"_ Gordon begged. "We've got to tell someone. Dad. Or Grandma."

"Fine. You two go."

"You've got to come too. Scott said you'd look after us."

"Yeah, well , Scott needs me more than you do right now," Virgil snapped. "Look, we're wasting time. I'm not coming with you, guys, so you can either sit on me all night and let who-knows-what happen to our brothers - and it'll be all your fault, not mine! - or you can go for help."

It was all too much for Alan and he burst into tears.

"Alan! Stop it. He'll hear you." Gordon couldn't believe they hadn't been discovered yet. Morten had finished barricading the window and was now nowhere to be seen. Had he gone back into the house - or was he on the hunt for some more Tracys?

But Alan's sobs just grew louder. "He's going to hurt Scotty and Johnny! He's going to turn them into vampires. Or zombies. Unless he's going to eat them..."

"Don't be stupid, Allie!" Virgil's initial fears that all the stories were true had been quashed the moment he'd set eyes on Kurt Morten, though he still believed the man was evil incarnate. "Let go of me. I've got to get to Scott."

"No!" Alan wailed. "The monster will get you."

Virgil put all his efforts into trying to look calm for his brother's sake, though he couldn't stop himself from shooting ever-anxious glances in the direction of the boarded-up window. "Al, he's not a monster, he's just a crazy old man. Didn't you see him?"

"He looks like a zombie," Alan insisted.

"Well you wouldn't expect someone who lives in a place like this to be a snappy dresser, would you?"

"He walks like one, too," Gordon pointed out.

"He's got a limp," Virgil told him. "He's an old man. He's probably deaf, too - that's why he didn't hear Alan screaming."

Gordon wasn't entirely convinced. It wasn't that he didn't want to believe Virgil - he did. And if anyone was going to see Kurt Morten for what he was, it would be the middle Tracy. Gordon had long since learned that his brother saw things differently to the rest of them. He'd spot little details that everyone else would miss, and when he drew them, you'd wonder why you hadn't noticed them yourself when they'd obviously been there all along. But even so, Gordon wasn't sure his brother was thinking rationally. Even if Kurt Morten _was _just an old man, he was an old man with a gun, and Virgil himself had said he was crazy...

"He's got a gun," he reminded his brother.

"So he must be human. I mean, why use a gun if you can cast a spell or zap someone into another dimension or something?"

Neither boy had an answer to this though their anxious expressions didn't change, after all, a gun was hardly less dangerous than any dark supernatural power. But they did let go of their brother. Slowly, bracing himself for another battle, Virgil got to his feet.

"Gordon, take Alan and cut across the field to the Wesley place. Get help."

Alan looked more than happy to get moving, but Gordon shook his head obstinately, much to Virgil's despair.

"Gords, you _have_ to. Look, the longer we argue, the more likely it is that something's going to happen to the others and it'll be our fault. Do you want to have that on your conscience? 'Cos I don't." He could see that Gordon was weakening. "I won't do anything stupid, I promise, but I might be able to get that board off. I could get Scott and John out. We could catch you up in about five minutes."

"Come on, Gordy." Alan was already pulling him away and Gordon knew when he was beaten.

"Okay."

"Thanks, Gords. It'll be okay, you'll see." Hoping he was right, Virgil moved to the gap in the hedge, tentatively poking his head through and looking around for Morten. There was no sign of him and he hoped it stayed that way. He was utterly terrified of encountering the man - and his gun - but he was even more terrified at the prospect of something happening to his brothers because he'd been too much of a coward to try to help. Tracys were brave, he reminded himself, they were men of action, they didn't run away from danger, they faced it. His dad had been to the moon, hadn't he? Scott wouldn't let himself be scared off, not when a brother was in trouble - that was why he'd gone after John in the first place. Now, as the oldest one left, it was up to him.

But just as he was about to enter the yard, Gordon pulled him back. Virgil resisted the urge to scream - not to mention the urge to give in to his fears and go with his brothers to safety - turning back to his brother with an irritated sigh.

"Now what?"

"If he comes back you'll be in trouble."

"I _know _that, Gordon."

"So we'd better distract him, hadn't we?"

This made sense and Virgil stopped to consider the idea. Not that he needed to give it any thought as it turned out. The family mischief-maker was way ahead of him.

"This is what we'll do..."


	7. Chapter 7

_Sorry this is late - between work and life in general, there hasn't been a lot of writing time. Thanks so much to everyone who responded to the last chapter, especially those of you I couldn't reply to in person._

Chapter Seven

Jeff Tracy thought it was just as well that Kurt Morten had been dead these last three years, because the thought of him threatening two of his sons with a gun before imprisoning them was enough to make the man who was about to become one of the greatest - albeit anonymous - humanitarians the world had ever seen, want to pick up a weapon of his own and go out in search of a little fatherly vengeance. Only the knowledge that all five sons had not only survived that night's events unscathed, but had been unaffected enough by their experiences to have been able to keep it from him all this time, stopped him punching the cabin wall in lieu of Morten's face.

Aware of Gordon's amused eyes upon him, Jeff forced himself to stay in control. As the moments went by and Gordon's grin just got wider, he felt his anger at Kurt Morten begin to dissipate. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he found himself starting to feel just a little bit sorry for him. He knew what it was like to face the onslaught of a team of determined Tracy brothers, though he at least had the advantage of a father's authority. His boys had known when to draw the line when he was around, but Kurt Morten had given them no reason to hold back - rightly so, in Jeff's opinion.

But he still couldn't quite believe he'd known nothing of all this until now. It wasn't as though he couldn't recall the time quite clearly - at least, he remembered the near-disaster at his factory well-enough, not to mention the resulting changes in procedure he'd immediately instigated throughout his organisation to ensure nothing like it could ever happen again. He'd been distracted, alright, determined to ensure that the reputation of his business - and by extension, himself - wasn't tarnished. Weeks of hard work had followed before he'd decided the Tracy name was still going to command respect - and now it seemed a greater threat to that good name had lain elsewhere all along.

He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to hear what Gordon had to tell him, so it was a welcome relief when the door opened and Virgil reappeared.

"How's it going?" Jeff asked. He hoped his son had managed to fix the radio. As lively and coherent as Gordon was - unless he was so badly concussed that he was making all this up, of course (which would actually have been something of a relief!) - his father still wanted him to see a doctor as soon as possible.

"Slowly," Virgil told him. "I need a different screwdriver." He made his way over to his toolkit, then, when the item he needed refused to make itself known, dropped to his knees and crawled around the cabin to look for it. He gazed ruefully at the pieces of Dylan's engine which had been flung around in the crash. "Just as well we don't need to be on the road tonight."

"Just as well," Jeff agreed. He paused before adding: "I haven't decided whether or not to ground you yet."

Virgil just looked bewildered. "Are you blaming me for the crash?"

"Of course not, but Gordon's been telling me all about your escapades at the Morten farm."

"He has?" A suddenly pale Virgil shot an incredulous look at his grinning brother.

"He has," Jeff told him. "Although I haven't got the whole story yet. We'd just got to the part where you're about to rescue your brothers whilst Gordon provides some kind of diversion."

"Oh." There was an awkward silence, but before Jeff could say anything else, Virgil spotted the tool he'd been looking for, grabbed it and scrambled to his feet. "Right, well... I'll leave you to it."

He was gone before Jeff could reply. All the man could do was turn to Gordon and raise an inquisitive eyebrow. "You were saying?"

Gordon settled himself more comfortably in his seat. "Well..."

* * *

Virgil waited impatiently by the gap in the hedge, willing his brother to get a move on. Gordon always rushed everywhere; there was no finesse, no subtlety to his movements, he just got from A to B in the shortest possible time and by the quickest possible route. If something could be knocked over or broken in the process, so much the better. So why did he have to take his time now? It was typical contrary little brother behaviour. Anything could be happening to Scott. And to John, of course, but whilst Virgil didn't hold any real grudges against his brother for his behaviour that morning, he couldn't help thinking this was all his second-oldest brother's fault, and if he had to choose between saving him or Scott, well, there was no choice to be made.

Of course, a fraction of a second later, he felt bad. There was no question that he'd help both of them, but Scott was his best brother and that was never going to change. Grandma might tell him they'd all go their separate ways when they grew up, but Virgil knew better.

"Where are you, Gords?" he hissed in frustration. Surely his brother would have done it by now.

He had.

As Kurt Morten started yelling and the cows Gordon and Alan had led from their field into the back yard set up an indignant mooing, apparently not appreciating the man's language or the punishments he was threatening if they didn't stop trampling over his vegetables, Virgil squeezed through the hedge and shot across to the boarded-up window, kneeling down to get a good look in the fading light.

As he'd feared, the nails had been hammered in as far as they could go. There was no way he could prise them loose. Virgil could have cried. There was nothing for it but to make a quick retreat, find his younger brothers and get an adult to help. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. His earlier arguments about the cost to Scott and John of any delay, still held strong. There was another option, after all - though whether he'd have the courage to actually go through with it, he really wasn't sure. Swallowing nervously, forcing himself to think of his brothers, not his own fear, he got to his feet and crept to the corner of the house. Cautiously sneaking a look to see what Morten was doing, he found the man still preoccupied with rounding up his recalcitrant herd. One - named 'Leia', it seemed - was being particularly awkward and it looked as though the man was going to have a hard time pacifying her and getting her back into her field. Virgil just hoped it would be long enough for him to get into the house, find his brothers and get out again.

With Morten at the far side of the yard and with his back to him, Virgil took a deep breath and started to run. Seconds later, he was inside the house, almost unable to believe what he was doing. He couldn't help but wonder what his peers would say if they knew. After all, just looking through a window was seen as the height of bravery - or recklessness - so actually setting foot in the place was surely worthy of some kind of medal.

Virgil thought he'd just be happy to get his brothers back and get home.

He'd entered via the back door into the kitchen, and the stale smell of cigarette smoke, sweat and rotting garbage made him gag. A trash can was overflowing with waste, yellowing newspapers were stacked in a tottering pile in a corner as well as being piled up on all but one of the chairs, whilst dirty dishes littered every available surface. The floor was covered with mud and the whole place was thick with dust.

Virgil found himself appreciating his grandmother and the valiant efforts she made to keep the Tracy home cosy and clean. He decided that she'd never again have to remind him to do his chores. How on earth could Kurt Morten live like this?

Spotting the cellar door, he darted across to it, relieved to still hear Morten yelling at his cows. An outraged clucking of chickens started up and Virgil wondered if the cows had agitated them, or if Gordon had decided that a little more mayhem was needed in order to buy his brother more time. He hoped it was the first option - Gordon had been supposed to take Alan to safety once the cows were in the yard. But then, he himself had only been supposed to try to get the window open, not to head into the house. Oh well, none of the boys would win any awards for good behaviour and obedience tonight.

The door was like any other cellar door in a place of this kind, wooden and secured simply with a latch. Virgil pulled it open and switched on the light for the staircase, dreading the sight, but needing to see exactly what he was heading into.

The kitchen had been illuminated by one dim bulb, the dust on the lampshade making the light it offered even more feeble. But this light was bright- so bright that Virgil found himself blinking, so great was the contrast. Although the place smelled damp, the odour was nowhere near as bad as the room he'd just left. It was clean too, the broom propped against the wall suggesting that Morten tended this space with a lot more care than he did his kitchen. It was certainly not what Virgil had expected - he'd been bracing himself for a terrifying ordeal: cobwebs brushing against his face, rats scurrying over his feet, unknown threats lurking in the darkness... Something like the haunted house his father had taken the boys to last Halloween.

Morten was certainly a strange man, Virgil thought, though he was grateful. If he'd really had to step into a place like that for real, his courage might have failed him. Now, the only danger was being discovered.

Snanpping off the light, reluctant to do so but worried that Morten might be alerted to his presence if he left it on, Virgil made his way down the steps and hesitated, trying to get his bearings. The space beneath the house had been divided into rooms and he needed to work out which one John and Scott were likely to be in.

His first choice was wrong, but despite the need to get a move on, Virgil found himself rooted to the spot as he tried to take in what he was seeing.

The room had been turned into some kind of survival shelter. Tin cans were stacked on shelves, bottles of water on the floor beneath them. A tiny metal bed, neatly made up with what looked like old army-issue blankets, took up most of the space along one wall. Some fancy computer equipment, far more advanced than anything Virgil would expect a man like Morten to possess, was set up on a table, and what looked like a hazmat suit, complete with gasmask, hung on a hook which had been screwed into a bookcase. The top shelves were stacked with survival handbooks and - somewhat to Virgil's surprise - comic books and sci-fi novels. The bottom shelf seemed to be devoted to texts about alien abductions, crop circles and the like. A poster entitled: _They Walk Among Us_ was pinned to one wall, a map of America covered with symbols apparently indicating sites of alien activity. A big red circle had been drawn around Kansas and Morten had added a large dot in approximately the place of their home town.

There were a couple of large cabinets, too, both secured with large padlocks. Virgil couldn't help wondering what on earth Morten kept in them. The man was definitely mad, he decided. Well, whatever made him happy. He could just get on with it, as long as Virgil could get himself and his brothers safely out of there.

Closing the door, he moved to the next room, wondering what he was going to find this time. He thought he might have reached his objective, though, since this door was securely locked and bolted. It only took a moment to get it open and he hesitantly pulled it open just a little.

The shock he experienced when someone the other side suddenly shoved it wide open, sending him flying across the corridor, was unimaginable, all the more so when a second later a solid body landed on top of him.

A rusty whisper echoed round the corridor as his attacker ordered someone else to get moving. It actually took Virgil a moment to realise that it was Scott, since the sound was so unlike the rich tone his brother was developing as he matured.

"It's me!" he whispered, urgently. "Get off me, Scott!"

"Virg?"

"What did he do to you?" Virgil jumped to his feet the moment Scott released him.

"What? Oh, my voice? Nothing. I've been yelling."

"At John?"

"No, not at me, at that maniac." John hadn't obeyed Scott's order to get moving, after all.

"Hey, you'll get your turn," Scott snapped, before turning to his younger brother. "Virg, I'll save your lecture for later too; right now I'm just grateful to you for getting us out of there. Come on, let's go. Which way?"

Virgil took the lead, but they'd only taken a few steps when the light suddenly flashed on, dazzling them, and unsteady footsteps could be heard moving down the stairs.

"Quick, in here!" Virgil yanked the door of the survival shelter open and darted in, closely followed by John. Scott hesitated before locking and bolting the door of his former prison. If they were lucky, Morten was just checking everything was in order. If not... Joining his brothers, he braced himself for a second attack.

Morten's shuffling footsteps could be heard coming closer. All three brothers held their breath as the man drew level with their door, then relaxed just a fraction as he moved on.

But any hope that he'd just check the lock and go back were dashed as they heard the sound of the bolt being drawn back. He'd realise his captives had gone and come looking. There was nowhere to hide, they'd be caught for sure.

Scott was wondering whether it was worth making a run for it, or at least sending his brothers to safety whilst he took on the old man. If he hadn't been scared the man would have his gun, he'd have gone for it, but the matter was taken out of his hands when John, clearly thinking along the same lines, suddenly darted out into the corridor. Scott had been on the other side of the room, his hands on Virgil's shoulders - the boy had been braver than Scott had ever believed possible, but right now he was shaking - and had no way of stopping the thirteen-year-old. There was a yell from Morten, the deafening, terrifying sound of the blast of a shotgun, then silence for a moment, followed by the slamming of the door.

Scott and Virgil were staring at each other, both terrified as to the fate of their brother. When John reappeared, unscathed and looking pleased with himself, they didn't know whether to hug him or hit him.

Not that there was time for either.

The three boys shot down the corridor and up the stairs, through the kitchen and out into the yard, deserted now, the signs of the damage caused by the cows, clearly evident.

"This way!" Scott led the way back to the hedge and moments later the three were running across the field towards two small figures who started to jump up and down and cheer the moment they spotted them.

It was the briefest of celebrations as the five brothers were reunited, however. None of them would feel safe until they were off Morten's land. Scott swung Alan onto his shoulders, then they ran for it.

Only when they reached the road did they stop.

* * *

"That's it?" Jeff couldn't help feeling relieved. It hadn't been as bad as he'd thought, after all.

"Not exactly."

Jeff's attention, which had started to wander to insurance claims and replacement aircraft, was caught again by Gordon's tone. His son sounded decidedly shifty - more so than he'd sounded at any time during his story.

"Not exactly?" Jeff repeated slowly, eyeing his son curiously.

"No. The trouble really started when we realised we'd have to go back..."


	8. Chapter 8

_Sorry this is late. Real life again... Thanks so much for the reviews, favourites and follows, I really do appreciate them. Whirlgirl, I really do love reading your thoughts - thank you. Pippalina, thanks for the lovely feedback. There's a bit more to come, so I'm sure Alan will get something else to do._

_I can't believe this is chapter eight. This was only supposed to be about three chapters. Looks like I got a bit carried away (again!). _

Chapter Eight

Gordon and Virgil were first to make it to the gate which led to the road, Gordon finding enough energy to scramble up on top, swinging his legs as his brother leaned against the post, gasping for breath.

Scott and Alan were next, Alan laughing as he urged Scott to go faster from his place on his brother's shoulders.

John came last, never the most athletic of the five. But when he arrived, he was certainly the most psyched of them all, punching the air in a display of jubilation rarely seen in the quietest of the brothers. Still, a lot of his behaviour lately had been out of character, Scott mused. He himself just felt exhausted, emotionally as well as physically. Being threatened with a shotgun and locked in a rat-infested cellar hadn't exactly been fun, and, possibly for the first time in his life, he'd felt utterly helpless. If it hadn't been for Virgil he'd still be there and he felt a new respect and admiration for his brother - along with the most incredible guilt for bringing the young boy along in the first place.

John, however, seemed to have no issues with what had happened. "We did it!" he laughed. "Way to go, Virg!"

"Us too!" Gordon and Alan chorused in unison. "We set the cows loose."

"Great job, boys," John told them, reaching out to muss up the hair of the two youngest. He tried to do the same to Virgil but the middle brother darted away.

"Calm it down," Scott said. "You're still in trouble, you know."

John considered this for a moment, then shrugged. He knew as well as Scott did that no adults were going to find out about this little adventure. So Scott might exact his own form of punishment, but without Grandma or his father's input, it wasn't likely to be anything the boy couldn't cope with. Unless he did something really mean like cutting a branch or two off the apple tree so that John could no longer escape from his room. Maybe he should have thought twice before making his escape that afternoon, discovery probably being inevitable, but with Tammi waiting for him, how could he have resisted?

Tammi...

"Wait till Tammi hears about this!" he exalted. "Those other guys were too scared even to go into the yard. This has got to get me in with her now."

Scott bit his tongue. There was a conversation to be had about this girl to be sure, but now really wasn't the time. They needed to get home.

Virgil, however, now that John was safe and well, had no such qualms about getting a few digs in. He might have forgiven his brother for the events of that morning when John was in trouble, but that didn't mean he'd forgotten.

"She's going to be real impressed when you tell her you got locked up and your kid brother had to save you," he pointed out.

But John refused to be drawn. "Maybe, but I saved you too, remember? Who was it that tackled Kurt Morten?"

"An old man," Virgil said, scathingly. "With a limp. It wasn't exactly a fair fight, even for a wimp like you."

John gave him a withering look. "He had a gun, remember?"

"Which makes you stupid, not brave."

"Well I guess I'll leave it up to Tammi to decide that one."

"She won't believe you," Virgil said. "And none of us are going to back you up. Are we?" He looked round at his other three brothers. "'Cos if Grandma or Dad hear about this we're going to be grounded for the rest of our lives."

"Suit yourselves," John said, turning away from the united ranks of the others. "I don't need to _tell _her anyway. I can _show _her."

"Show her?" Scott frowned. "What do you mean, 'show her'?"

John just patted his jacket pocket and grinned, making to hoist himself over the gate, only for Scott to grab him. Struggling was no good as his bigger brother simply kept him in a tight grip whilst he ordered Virgil to search his pockets.

Sure enough, though Scott had really been hoping for a different outcome, Virgil drew out a large, rusty key.

"You didn't?" Scott asked wearily, letting his brother go.

"Why not?" John seemed totally unconcerned. "He locked _us_ up, Scott. He boarded up that window and left us trapped in that cellar. Or have you forgotten? What do you think he was going to do to us?"

"Well, thanks to the boys we didn't have to wait around to find out." Scott dodged the question. It was something he really didn't want to think about. "But John, what were you thinking? Who's going to let him out? The guy's a recluse, he's not going to have anyone coming along to set him free. There's no way out of that place, you know that."

John shrugged, but the grin had gone and Scott could see that now the adrenaline was wearing off, and he'd been forced to think of something other than the charms of Tammi Davis, he was beginning to realise the implications of what he'd done.

"Did he hurt himself when you tackled him?" Scott asked.

"Don't know. I landed on top of him - that's when the gun went off. The bullet hit the wall, so he's not shot. He didn't move, but I thought he was just out of breath. To be honest, I didn't take the time to check. I just wanted to get out of there and be sure he didn't come after us."

"He's old," Scott said. "He might have broken something." He sighed. "You guys wait here, I'll go and let him out."

"And risk getting shot?" John asked. "No, Scott. It's too dangerous."

Virgil, Gordon and Alan agreed. Gordon, supported by Alan, voiced the opinion that he didn't really care what happened to a man who could do what he'd done to his brothers, whilst Virgil was more concerned about something bad happening to Scott.

"Okay." Scott pulled out his phone. If he was honest, he was relieved not to have to go back. He'd been more frightened than he wanted to admit and the last thing he wanted was to go a second round with Morten. "Guess I could call the police and tell them there's trouble at the farm."

"Yeah, do that." Virgil let the iron grip he'd put on Scott's arm relax just a little.

But when Scott looked at his phone, he discovered that the battery which he'd charged that very afternoon and which should have been good for another couple of days, had drained right away. Morten's fancy equipment, he surmised, possibly the same device that had blocked the signal in the first place. Great.

"I've got to go back," he said, showing them the screen.

"No, we'll go home and call for help," Gordon insisted.

There was nothing Scott would have liked better, but Morten might have been hurt, or worse. What if he'd had a heart attack or something? It would take half an hour at least to get home and Morten might not have that long. Scott couldn't have that on his conscience.

"John, take the kids home," he ordered. "If I'm not back within half an hour, call Dad."

"No."

"Don't argue." Scott turned away and began striding back across the field. It was no surprise when, seconds later, he heard three sets of footsteps running behind him. Ignoring his brothers, he kept going. There was no point arguing, he knew that, there simply wasn't time and he was never going to win, anyway. He couldn't outrun them either - well, he could, but there was no point, given that they knew exactly where he was headed. Maybe they'd be content to keep watch from behind the hedge like last time.

Or maybe not.

Scott's first thought had been to pull the board off the window and make a run for it - there had to be plenty of suitable tools lying around the farm. But then he realised that Morten was unlikely to be able to climb up - he'd had a hard enough job himself. Worse still, getting the board off would take time and Morten might be alerted by the noise and decide to let off a blast from his shotgun. It was too dangerous.

But then, going to the door held the same risk. Maybe the man was deaf enough for him to be able to put the key in the lock and turn it without him being discovered, but if he was lurking by the door, as soon as it swung open Scott would be vulnerable - he could run, but the corridor was long enough for Morten to be able to get a shot at him before he could get safely away.

Of course, all that depended on Morten being fit and well and capable of retaliation. Scott actually hoped he was - the prospect of bearing the responsibility for his death was unthinkable. It wouldn't matter that it had been John who'd attacked the man - justifiably so, under the circumstances - Scott, as brother-in-chief, would always believe it to be himself who was to blame.

They slowed down as they approached the hedge, squeezing through one by one and moving off to the side, away from any direct line of fire from the cellar window.

"Listen!"

But there was no need for Gordon to alert them. They could all hear the banging and shouting. The moon was high now and the light was enough for them to see a splintered hole in the board Morten had placed over the window, suggesting the man had tried to blast his way out.

"What's he saying?" Virgil edged closer, only to be pulled back by Scott, who'd picked up several words he didn't want his younger brothers hearing.

"Stay here," he ordered. "The guy's obviously okay if he's making that much noise. We can go home and call for help from there."

Relieved, they turned to leave. But when they reached the hedge a quick head count revealed one missing brother. John was still standing where they'd left him.

"John!"

"Hurry up!"

But John ignored both Virgil and Gordon, instead taking a few steps closer to the window.

Forgetting his concern that his kid brothers not be exposed to the kind of profanity Morten seemed so fond of, Scott muttered a few curses of his own before striding back to John.

"What now?" he hissed. "Come on; if Grandma or Dad haven't discovered we're out of the house it'll be a miracle."

But John ignored him, and once Scott took in a few of Morten's words he understood why.

It seemed that Tammi Davis and her gang hadn't just decided to bother the old man today. Apparently they'd tormented him for a while now and he was making it quite plain who he suspected for locking him in, threatening all sorts of retribution towards the girl once he got out.

"How does he know her?" Scott asked. After all, as a recluse, the man was hardly likely to know the names of random town children.

"Her father makes deliveries for Hartfords," John said. "She's been here a couple of times with him. Guess that's how he recognised her."

"He won't go after her," Scott said. "That would mean leaving this place."

"Yeah, but what if he does? Or if he tells her father? You know what he's like, Scott. He'll beat her."

Scott sighed. "But she's home now, isn't she? Her father will know she couldn't have been here tonight."

"Maybe. But what if he believes Morten anyway? The rest of the guys could be in trouble, too."

Scott frankly didn't care. If all this persuaded John to find a new set of friends, so much the better. But then a thought struck him. If Tammi's gang did get into trouble for this, then so might John. After all, they'd know exactly who was responsible and Scott couldn't see them keeping quiet to save his brother at the expense of their own hides. The police might get involved, then so would his father and grandmother. The whole story was bound to come out and he and all his brothers would have to face the music.

So much for quietly rescuing John and keeping the whole thing a secret. This was going to affect them all, but he and John had the most to lose. Would a top college want either of them with something like this on their records? What about the Air Force? His ambitions could be shattered before he'd even had the chance to get started.

He realised John was looking at him intently, probably guessing exactly what was going through his head. Turning away, he took in the sight of Virgil, Gordon and Alan waiting nervously by the gap in the hedge, clearly puzzled as to the delay.

He turned back to John. "What are we going to do?"

John smiled grimly. "Well, while we were making our way back I did have a few ideas. You won't like them, though."

"Right now I'll listen to anything." Scott couldn't quite believe he was saying this. John was notorious in the family for coming up with elaborate, devious, bizarre - and sometimes downright illegal - plans. Of course, up till now they'd been nothing more than plans. John had never had the chance to put any of them into practice, his father, grandmother and older brother keeping a suspicious eye on him, whilst his younger brothers could always be relied upon to tell tales.

Scott wondered if he could really go along with whatever John suggested, but he was out of options. They were in so deep now that they might as well try anything to save themselves. They could hardly make things worse.

Could they?


	9. Chapter 9

_Sorry this is a bit late - a combination of real life and numerous rewrites. I'm a bit nervous about this one, but I'm taking my lead from the other boys here: it's all John's fault, he made me write it! Whirlgirl, thanks as always for the lovely comments._

Chapter Nine

"No way! That's insane!" Scott was actually wondering if _he_ was the one who was insane for having entertained, even for a moment, the idea that he could go along with one of John's plans.

Unfortunately for him, however, his other brothers seemed quite engaged by the idea. Well, he wouldn't have expected anything else from Gordon and Alan, but to his surprise Virgil seemed to be giving it some serious consideration too and Scott couldn't help groaning inwardly at the irony of the situation. As much as he enjoyed being hero-worshipped by his middle brother, there were times it oppressed and worried him and lately he'd actually been trying to get Virgil to detach himself a little - he was quickly learning that you couldn't get very far with a girl if you had a kid brother tagging along all the time. Talk about being careful what you wished for, he thought. It had been such a peculiar day already that it wouldn't surprise him if Virgil chose this moment to cut himself loose and turn to the dark side.

John was definitely doing his best to convince his next-youngest brother. "Come on, Virg. You know we can't pull this off without you."

Virgil looked from Scott to John, clearly wavering. Usually there would be no question about it, he'd side with Scott, especially when he was mad at John. But that creative, imaginative side of his character couldn't help but be caught up in the idea. Oh, Scott was right, it was crazy. Totally insane. And yet..

With the combined forces of John, Gordon and Alan against him, plus the fact that no one had a better idea, Virgil finally gave in. It felt strange to be going against Scott, but then again, as John had pointed out, if it all worked out, he'd be saving his favourite brother from all sorts of trouble, since as the eldest, Scott was bound to bear the brunt of the blame for Morten's imprisonment.

"Okay. But if we get caught I'm telling them it was your idea."

John didn't seem to have a problem with that. In fact, he seemed more than happy to take full credit, dismissing Virgil with an airy wave of his hand and turning to the one brother who remained unconvinced. "Scott?"

"It's stupid, John."

"So do you have a better idea?"

"I'm worried about the gun," Scott said, deliberately ignoring John's challenge since they both knew he didn't.

"It went off when I pushed him in the cellar and then he shot at the window," John said. "It's a double-barrelled shotgun. He'll be out of ammo."

"He's got pockets," Scott pointed out. "He could have kept a few spare shells in them."

John was unperturbed. "All the more reason to make sure our diversions work. Look, I know it's a bit... unusual... but we'll be here all night if we try to come up with something else. Unless you want to just give in, call the police and wait to be arrested?"

"Or worse," Gordon interjected. "Grandma's going to kill us if she finds out."

It said a lot for Ruth Tracy that a scolding from her was feared more than any punishment the police or even their father might dish out. Even John paled a little before pulling himself together and marshalling the troops.

"All the more reason to make sure this works. Right, let's get going. You all know what you have to do?"

There were enthusiastic responses from Gordon and Alan. Now that Kurt Morten had been exposed as a somewhat sad - if not actually mad - individual, their initial fears had gone. Even the threat of the gun didn't worry them too much. They both felt a real sense of awe at their blond brother's intellect and if John said this would work, then they saw no reason to argue. As much as they respected Scott, they couldn't help feeling that he was often too cautious, too worried about consequences and punishments, spoiling their fun on far too many occasions. They both had more than their fair share of whatever mischievous gene John had been blessed with - or cursed with, if you looked at it from Scott's point of view - and the prospect of being let loose to exercise it to its full was something they'd always dreamed of, never expecting the opportunity would ever come their way. And if it all went wrong, well, at eight and six respectively, they had the utmost confidence that a simple, "Johnny made us do it!" would exonerate them from even the slightest bit of blame.

Virgil looked uneasily at Scott for a moment, took a deep breath, then nodded.

"Way to go, Virg! Scott?"

Scott just shook his head.

"Okay," John said, turning away. "Stay here then and we'll see you later. Come on, boys."

As he'd expected, they'd only taken a few steps when Scott caught them up.

"I'm only doing this so I can help out if you get into trouble," Scott muttered. "I must be out of my mind." Even so, he couldn't help but smile at the cheers his presence elicited from his three youngest brothers.

John clapped him on the shoulder. "We'll be fine. Trust me."

Scott just hoped his brother was right.

When they reached the house they split up. John and Virgil heading for the back door, whilst Scott and the others made for some nearby outbuildings.

John led Virgil into the house and over to the door which led down to the cellar. He paused, wondering whether or not to put the light on, then decided against it. He and Scott had been alerted to the arrival of someone - Virgil as it had turned out, though they'd expected Morten - when a bright slant of light had suddenly shone from under the ill-fitting door of their prison. The last thing he wanted to do was to alert Morten to the presence of an intruder. He might have dismissed the idea of him having any more ammunition when talking to Scott, but if he was honest with himself, he had to admit that there was a fair chance he did - and he really didn't want to be shot. He might be addicted to comics in the same way that Morten appeared to be, but he knew full well that in real life, if someone was shot, they tended not to get up and carry on as if nothing had happened.

Whispering a warning to Virgil to be both quiet and careful, he crept down the stairs, making his way to Morten's survival shelter. Shutting the door once Virgil had joined him, he felt more than confident in turning on the light - this door was thick and well-fitting, not a millimetre of space remaining. Looking around, he wished he had more time to explore. Morten's treasures were here - valuable first editions of Superman comics, along with every edition of a cult series that John and his science club friends had been pretty much addicted to. The author was a former secret service man who had died in mysterious circumstances. This had given rise to any number of conspiracy theories, the kind Morten apparently believed in so strongly, given the number of newspaper cuttings pinned to the wall. Many insisted that the author hadn't just made up the saga of alien criminals who hid from their planet's authorities in the bodies of ordinary humans, slowly destroying a person's very soul as their body became a mere puppet of the invader, but that he was actually writing about a reality he'd come to know well through his government work - a reality the authorities would prefer people to remain ignorant of, of course.

When he'd been in here earlier he'd thought he'd spotted the series bible nestling on the bookshelves, the same weighty volume that sat on his own bookshelf at home, his brothers having clubbed together to buy it for him a few Christmases ago. Sure enough there it was, and he grabbed it, flicking through it and smiling when the pages fell naturally open at exactly the page he wanted. This really was going to work, he thought.

At least, he hoped so.

"Here you go, Virg," he said, handing the book to his brother.

Virgil had settled himself at a small table, searching through the paperwork on there - Morten's tax records by the look of it - until he found a blank page. Pulling a pencil out of his pocket he looked expectantly at John, only to find him engrossed in one of Morten's comic books.

"Leave it alone, John."

"Virg, it's a first edition. Look, it's even signed by the illustrator. This must be worth a fortune." He continued to flick through the pages.

"You're supposed to be showing me what to do."

Reluctantly, John replaced the book. Taking Virgil's pencil and grabbing a second sheet of paper, he wrote a few sentences, wincing as the action put stress on his injured wrist. "You'll be okay for a few minutes?" he asked. But there was no response, Virgil already engrossed in his task.

John sneaked back along the corridor and up to the kitchen where he found Scott waiting for him.

"Everything okay? Where are the others?" he asked.

Scott didn't need to answer, since at that moment, Gordon and Alan dashed into the kitchen, whooping enthusiastically as they revealed the treasure they'd discovered.

"Look, Johnny, look!"

John might have been taking more interest in real life than fantasy since meeting Tammi Davis, but he felt the old fascination sweep over him as he saw what Alan was holding: a replica weapon, the kind the heroes carried and used to drive the invading creatures from their human hosts. He made to grab the gun, deciding it was far too valuable to risk in the hands of his youngest brother, but Alan dodged away, aiming it at Gordon, who pretended to die dramatically as a loud, shrill sound pierced the air, accompanied by pulses of neon green light.

Scott rolled his eyes. The deeper into this he got, the worse it all became. Any moment now he would wake up to find it was all some horrible dream.

But no. He was stuck with it.

"Enough!" he snapped. "Alan, put that back where you found it. John, are you ready? What about Virgil?"

"All set here," John said. "How about you?"

"Just about done. I need something for that light, though. I can't find anything in the barn."

John glanced around, then indicated an old red bandana he saw on the kitchen table. Gingerly, Scott picked up the sweat-stained, grimy piece of cloth. "Let's just get this over with," he said. "Five minutes?"

"Five minutes."

Gordon made a great show of checking his watch. Alan didn't wear one, instead grabbing John's injured wrist and making his brother yelp in pain as he twisted it to see the time.

Scott whistled as he checked his own watch. "It's late," he muttered. "Guys, we'd better get a move on, because I'm betting Dad or Grandma will be trying to call the house. We'll be lucky not to run into a search party on the way home."

This thought sobered all the boys, then John shook himself, reminded them that they'd come too far to run away now, and headed back down to the cellar with a quick 'good luck' to the others.

Virgil had been busy writing the note John had drafted. Using the guide his brother had found for him, Virgil translated it into the alien language, producing something far more elegant than John himself would ever have managed, shading and embellishing to make the symbols seem unmistakeably other-worldly. He hardly noticed when John returned.

John took the opportunity to have a look at the technology Morten had accumulated. The man had certainly bought into the idea of alien invaders and government surveillance. John couldn't help but feel sorry for the man, living in squalor whilst spending his money on kit like this. If Morten had had the usual run-of-the-mill equipment John would have hacked into his computer and left a more sophisticated message, but whilst his skills in that area were developing fast, he wasn't quite good enough to crack this lot, not in the limited time available to him. No, Virgil's old-fashioned hand-written note would have to do.

He thought about the equipment he had in his room. No scanners and communication scramblers there, just the best hardware money could buy, his screensaver a picture of Tammi that he'd snapped surreptitiously that summer when she'd first caught his eye.

He'd never expected to be on the verge of dating the girl.

He'd certainly never expected to be orchestrating an alien raid.

An unearthly wailing noise from outside warned him that time was up.

"That's our cue," he said softly. "You done, Virg?"

Virgil made a few more marks on the paper then got to his feet.

"See you in a minute," he said, then made his way back up to the kitchen. John put the reference book back in its place, then moved towards the room which held Kurt Morten, a shaft of pink light filtering through from the gap at the foot of the door. He held his breath and listened. There was plenty of noise coming from the yard, but nothing from Morten. Certainly he didn't seem to be anywhere near the door. If all was going to plan, his full attention would be elsewhere. John moved right up to the door, took the key from his pocket and placed it into the lock.

John might have been taking the biggest risk in letting Morten loose, but Scott wasn't shying away from danger himself. He'd argued with his brother over who should open the door, but John's insistence that he look after the youngest had got through to him. As carefully planned as the whole operation was - and he had to admit John had a definite talent for scheming, something he'd only had glimpses of up till now and something he was determined was not going to be encouraged in future - there was a danger that the kids would get carried away, and if that happened, they'd need their biggest, strongest brother to restrain them. Anyway, who else would have been able to push Morten's old truck out of the barn and over to the house? If only they'd been able to use a flashlight, but although they'd found three in the outhouses they'd searched, the batteries had long since died in all of them.

So there he was, crouching at the side of the cellar window with one hand snagging Gordon's collar whilst the other twirled a crowbar. Gordon didn't seem to realise he was being restrained, too intent on staring at his watch. As the second hand crept up to the 12, he raised his head to look at Scott. Scott glanced at his own watch, prayed that John and Virgil had done what they needed to do, then gave the agreed signal to Alan, perched in the cabin of truck.

Alan switched the headlights on. The beam, given a pink glow by means of the bandana they'd found in the kitchen, hit the boarded-up cellar window, the hole in the wood made by Morten's shotgun large enough to let plenty of light in. At the same time, the youngest brother set up a high-pitched - and definitely inhuman - howling sound, something he'd heard when he'd watched the TV adaptation of the novels with John, and which he often delighted in subjecting the family to at home - until quietened by an admonishment from Grandma. Now, with no one to hold him back, he gave it all he had. Which was a surprisingly large amount, given how small he was.

Gordon, ever the mimic, made a noise that sounded pretty much like the gun Alan had found, interspersing it every now and again with some suitably alien cries of agony, the kind of noises a being might make if they were being sucked out of a human host. As Morten's dogs responded with a furious barking which made all the boys glad they were safely shut away, Scott, keeping well to the side, out of the way of any bullets that might come smashing through the board, began to crowbar it away from the window - not to allow Morten out, since the man was too old and frail to climb up, but to distract the man further from the fact that John was opening the door to set him free. John had pointed out that such an action was unnecessary, given the battle of the aliens taking place in the man's own backyard, a major distraction in anyone's eyes, but Scott, refusing to accept that Morten would accept such a scenario - well, he'd never been the sci-fi obsessive John was - insisted on having a more mundane diversion, just in case.

Between the three of them, the noise and light seemed to do the trick. At least, John encountered no irate farmer when he turned the key of the door and pushed it ajar ever so slightly before hurrying back down the corridor and up the stairs, tensed all the while for a bullet in his back. Virgil was waiting for him at the back door and, pausing only for a quick high-five, the pair made their escape.

Dashing round the corner of the house, they joined their brothers. Gordon gave one last, dramatic howl of agony, then he and Alan fell silent. Only the sound of the dogs remained, and they didn't seem likely to calm themselves any time soon. Scott could only wonder what Morten's reaction to all this had been.

Alan shut off the truck's headlight as Gordon removed the cloth from the light, then all five brothers joined forces to push the truck back into place in the barn before running back through the gap in Morten's hedge to the safety of the next field.

"Go!" Scott hissed, and his brothers started to run. He hesitated, however, unable to leave until he knew their efforts hadn't been in vain. Sure enough, a few minutes later, Morten emerged from the house. The moonlight was enough for Scott to see the paper he held reverently against his heart as he gazed up into the night sky, a look of the utmost awe on his face. He whispered something Scott didn't understand, but which he recognised as the language from John's sci-fi show, then turned and went back into his house.

Scott made his escape, sprinting across the field towards his brothers, hardly able to believe they'd got away with it.


	10. Chapter 10

_Thanks so much for the response to the last chapter. Whirlgirl, I'm so glad you enjoyed it. This was supposed to be the final instalment but it's already one of the longest chapters, so there's one more after this, just to tie up all the loose ends._

Chapter Ten

"Dad? Dad, you okay?" Gordon was exhausted after the effort of telling his story, the headache, which he had managed to forget about as he'd relived the events of eight years ago, back with a vengeance. But he still couldn't help but feel sorry for his father, who had buried his head in his hands and was now rocking back and forth.

At Gordon's words, Jeff tried to pull himself together. He'd fought in aerial battles, been to the moon, endured traumas that would have broken a lesser man, yet he'd never reacted to anything in this way before. He defied any man not to do the same. He'd honestly believed his sons had no more surprises for him, not when he'd watched five very different characters emerge over the years. But this... When he next spoke to John he'd definitely have some questions, he thought.

Although given that this was Gordon, maybe things weren't quite as they seemed. Maybe John would just laugh at him for believing such a ridiculous story. But why else would Virgil have reacted so guiltily when he'd learned exactly which tale Gordon was regaling him with...?

"Please tell me you're exaggerating." He'd hoped he would sound like his usual calm, matter-of-fact self, but to his shame there was a definite element of pleading in his voice.

Gordon just smiled, then closed his eyes and yawned.

"Don't go to sleep!" Jeff commanded, worried once more about a possible concussion. "Come on, Gordon, you haven't explained how no one ever found out about all this. I mean, I know I was tied up with work that night, but surely your grandmother would have been checking up on you."

"Sure she was. There's jus' a bit more." He yawned again. "Virg c'n tell you."

"No he can't. He's still trying to repair the radio." Jeff just hoped his middle son would hurry up about it. Surely he should be done by now? He listened intently, hoping to hear the radio crackle into life in the cabin, but there was nothing.

"Later."

"Now, Gordon!"

As exhausted as he was, Gordon knew there was no arguing with that tone of voice. Wearily shifting position so he sat up a little straighter, he took a moment to collect his thoughts, then began the conclusion of his story.

* * *

They'd made their way home as quickly as they could. The younger boys were all tired, despite the adrenaline that still coursed through them. Alan was back up on Scott's shoulders before they were even halfway home. Gordon envied his brother. His own legs were aching and he shuffled along behind his brothers, every now and again calling to them not to leave him behind.

Unusually, it was John, the quietest brother, who was doing most of the talking. He was more than pleased with himself. He'd got Tammi out of trouble - his note had made it quite clear that the troublesome teenagers who'd bothered Morten were simply the innocent puppets of their alien hosts. As long as he could keep the gang away from the farm - and if he could come up with a plan like this, then finding a way to divert their attention should be a piece of cake - Tammi was in the clear. He just hoped she'd be grateful. Of course, she could never know the truth. As obsessed as he was with the girl, he had enough sense to realise that no one could ever find out what the Tracy brothers had done that night. Still, he'd spin her some tale that painted him in an heroic light. He'd never felt so full of confidence and fire. He'd always known he possessed a potent mix of clever and cunning, but he'd never expected to have the chance to put his skills to the test like this.

"You couldn't have done it without us," Virgil told him.

John had to agree. Uncharacteristically he reached over to punch his brother affectionately on the arm. "We're a great team, Virg. Sorry I tried to kick you this morning."

Virgil considered this apology for a moment, rather surprised that his brother should have offered it in the first place, before deciding to accept it. "You have to buy Grandma some flowers or something," he ordered.

"Sure. Chocolates too." John had absolutely no qualms about anything he'd done after sneaking out of the house, but he felt absolutely terrible about hurting his grandmother. He didn't have much of his allowance left but maybe he could hack into the local florist's computer and fix things so he'd get the biggest bouquet for the smallest cost... No, he thought, rather shocked at himself for thinking such a thing. He might be devious, but he was ultimately honest - probably just as well! He'd borrow the money from Scott and do a few extra chores to make up the shortfall. That, too, would show Grandma how sorry he was.

"Home at last," Scott muttered as the Tracy house came into sight. A few of the downstairs lights were on, thanks to the automatic lighting system their father had installed. As befitted the home of one of the great innovators of the technological age, the house was equipped with just about every gadget ever invented.

"I can't wait to get to sleep," Gordon announced.

"You're not the only one," John told him. "Al's halfway there already."

"Me too," Virgil yawned. "Scott, what about you?"

"I'll sleep fine if I know we've got away with this," the oldest brother replied.

"Scott, I promise you, Morten fell for it. You said yourself-"

"It's not Morten I'm worried about! You really think no one's tried to check up on us all this time? You'd best get that brain of yours working again, Johnny, because I guarantee no alien invader's going to be a match for Grandma."

John swallowed nervously. "I guess we'll have to tell her we went for a moonlight walk or something. If we say Gordon was playing up-"

"Hey, don't blame me!"

"Nor me!" This from Virgil.

They waited for Alan to have his say, but there was only silence. The six-year-old was definitely more asleep than awake.

"There you are, then," John said softly. "We'll say it was Alan's fault."

Reaching the gate set into the wall of their back yard, Virgil tapped in the code to unlock it.

"Home at last," he sighed, as they all passed through and the gate shut behind them.

Normally it would be a race to the door, but none of them had the energy and they trudged along the side of the house towards the front door, each one of them counting the seconds until they could relax on one of their comfortable couches.

But it wasn't going to be that easy. No sooner had Scott rounded the corner of the house than the security lights on the driveway clicked on and a small figure could be seen moving slowly up the drive.

"Mrs Henderson!" he hissed, backing round the corner, nearly knocking Gordon and Virgil over as he did so and shocking Alan into wakefulness. Mrs Henderson was their next-door-neighbour and a good friend of their grandmother's.

"Grandma must have sent her to check on us! What are we going to do?" Virgil looked from Scott to John. Scott couldn't help feeling a little hurt that his brother wasn't placing his trust completely in him anymore, but then he had to admit that John was the ideas man tonight. Frankly, he himself didn't have a clue. They'd come so close to getting away with it. It wasn't fair that they were going to be caught at the final hurdle.

But John wasn't giving up that easily.

"Come on!" He ushered them back a few metres until they reached the tree he so often used to come and go without discovery. "I'll go first and guide you all in. Virg, you next, then Gordon. Scott, can you get up there with Alan?"

"I can climb!" Alan whined, only for Scott to tell him in no uncertain terms that he wasn't going to even attempt it. John's fear that he would cut a few branches off to prevent any more secret excursions were definitely going to come true - the last thing Scott wanted was for all four younger brothers to have an escape route. It was hard enough to keep track of them as it was!

With the benefit of plenty of practice, John climbed up in seconds. Virgil and Gordon scrambled up quickly enough, too. Scott had a harder job with Alan on his back, but in less than two minutes they were all assembled in John's bedroom.

"Now what?" Virgil asked. One thing in their favour was that Mrs Henderson didn't move quickly, thanks to a recent hip operation, but she'd be at the door at any second.

"You three get into bed!" John ordered. "Pyjamas, teddy bears, the works. Pretend to be asleep. Scott, grab your robe - you're covered in dust from that cellar - then come downstairs with me."

The three youngest did what they were told without complaint for once in their lives. Scott and John, pulling their robes on as they went, dashed down the stairs and had just made it into the den when there was a knock at the door.

"You get it," John said, turning the TV on and flicking through the channels until he found a re-run of the very show that had inspired that night's adventure.

Scott wanted to tell him to find something else but there simply wasn't time. Instead, as a second, more urgent round of knocking began, he simply did as he was told.

"Hi, Mrs Henderson." he said, opening the door. "What's the problem?"

"Your grandmother's going frantic," Milly Henderson told him. "Why haven't you answered the phone?"

Scott was saved from replying by the arrival of John from the den.

"What phone?" he asked, his voice full of confusion. "We didn't get any phone calls. We've been wondering why she hadn't been in touch, actually. We wanted to call her to make sure everything was okay, but we didn't have the Henshaws' number and we didn't dare ring Dad when he's so busy."

"She said she called at least a dozen times." Mrs Henderson told them. "Scott, she called your cell, too."

"The battery's flat," Scott said, glad that he could be completely truthful about that one.

"We definitely didn't get any calls," John said. "Maybe there's some problem with the phone..." He led the way into the den and looked at the phone before picking it up and holding it to his ear.

"That's odd," he said. "The line's dead."

"Looks like the whole phone's dead," Scott said, deciding he might as well chip in. Certainly there was no flashing light to show any messages had been left, nor any light at all, for that matter.

"You're right," John said. He wrinkled his eyebrows, a vision of someone engaged in the deepest concentration, before clicking his fingers and dropping to his knees, wincing as he put his weight onto his injured wrist. He'd have to think of an innocent excuse for that one - he was lucky it was just a sprain.

He peered under the cabinet, then reached underneath.

"Look at this," he announced, holding up a disconnected lead. "Now how do you suppose that happened?"

He looked up at Scott, who shrugged. Obviously John had disconnected it, but he could hardly say that.

"Hang on," John said, getting to his feet having reconnected the phone. "Wasn't Alan playing with his cars by here?"

Scott picked up his cue seamlessly. "Little devil! He must have pulled the plug out."

"Well, Ruth will be relieved," Mrs Henderson said. "You'd better call her, Scott. Here's the number." She handed him a slip of paper.

Scott did as he was bid, feeling incredibly guilty for the obvious worry he'd caused his grandmother. Certainly he'd never heard her sound so pleased to hear from him. It took him a while to reassure her and to promise her that everyone was safe and well and that no, they definitely didn't need Milly Henderson to babysit for the rest of the night!

John had clearly anticipated that suggestion too, because he was already manoeuvring their neighbour back to the front door.

He was just reaching up to open it, congratulating himself on yet another success, when the landing light went on and Alan appeared, half-asleep, with his hair tousled and his favourite bear clutched in one hand.

"Alan, sweetheart!" Mrs Henderson moved away from the door as John groaned inwardly. Couldn't Alan have waited two more minutes to go to the bathroom?

Alan came sleepily down the stairs. "'Lo, Mrs Hendyson," he yawned, fixing her with the beaming smile that fooled old ladies like their neighbour into thinking he'd just been borrowed from the angels - despite his brothers' insistence that he'd come from somewhere entirely different! "Are you looking after us?"

"I came to make sure you were all okay," Mrs Henderson told him. "You cut the phone off when you were playing with your cars. Your grandmother was worried when she couldn't call you."

John held his breath, shaking his head warningly at his brother. Alan wasn't one to take any slight without protest and the last thing they needed was for him to protest that he was utterly innocent.

But Alan was clearly on a roll after his performance at Kurt Morten's farm, because after a moment's pause, he simply widened his eyes, his bottom lip trembling as real tears slipped out.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Hendyson! It was an accident. Honest!"

Scott, who had finished talking to Grandma and come out into the hallway in time to witness this act, was equally surprised and appalled. John was just impressed. It was no shock to him that his brother turned on the tears to get out of trouble - he'd seen it a hundred times, as had Gordon and Virgil. It was only Scott who was fooled these days. Still, after this, maybe the eldest brother would be a little less inclined to take the baby's side. Another result! After a disastrous beginning, this was turning out to be one of the best days of his life.

Mrs Henderson was completely fooled, of course, gathering the little boy up in her arms and covering him with kisses as she carried him into the kitchen where she could be heard murmuring words of comfort. When Alan begged for hot chocolate which, he insisted, Mrs Henderson made better than his grandmother - another lie, since none of the boys liked the watery concoction she insisted on forcing on them whenever their grandmother forced them to visit her - both brothers groaned. They'd wanted to get rid of the woman and now she'd be here at least another half an hour.

Worse still, she insisted on making a cup for them, too. Though on the bright side, she did wash up the dishes they'd left after that afternoon's pizza.

Finally, after putting Alan to bed - to Scott and John's relief, he was too tired to even think of asking for a bed-time story - and checking on Gordon and Virgil, both fast asleep, the woman took her leave.

"And that's that," Scott sighed, shutting the door behind her.

"Certainly is," John agreed. "I'm going to kill Al in the morning, though. That hot chocolate was revolting."

"Get in line," Scott told him. "You know, that was quite a performance he gave. I never realised before, but he takes after you. Must be a blond thing."

"Jealous?" John asked, running his fingers through his thick hair.

"No." Scott activated the security system and yawned. "I'm going to bed. Promise me one thing, John?"

"If I can." John sounded doubtful. If Scott was going to ask him to give up on Tammi or to be a good boy from now on and not sneak off again, he wasn't going to be able to agree. If leaving Kurt Morten alone was the request then he'd have to think twice about that one, too. He could promise easily enough not to go back to the farm, but the man must be online and it might be fun to contact him in the guise of the alien commander...

But either Scott knew he'd be asking too much of his brother or else he was just too tired to think of such things. "Next time you have an idea like this, leave me out of it."

John laughed and agreed, though mentally he was crossing his fingers. He'd enjoyed himself tonight and the fact that all his brothers had been involved had just made the whole thing that much better. Recently the thirteen-year-old had felt isolated from the others and it felt good to feel part of the family again. If there was a next time - and as unlikely as it seemed, he couldn't help hoping there would be - then he'd want all his brothers, Scott included, along for the ride.


	11. Chapter 11

_Finally, the last chapter. Thank you so much to everyone who's supported the story - I really do appreciate it. Whirlgirl, Pippalina, Pipe Dream and Guest, I can't reply personally, but thank you for the reviews._

Chapter Eleven

Finishing his tale, Gordon leaned back and closed his eyes. Let his father make of it what he would. Gordon knew the truth, as did all his brothers. He'd have to ask his father how he'd known there was a story to be told, though. Hadn't he mentioned something about Alan letting something slip? Typical. Then again, his brother had been little more than a baby at the time. Gordon was actually quite impressed that he'd managed to keep the secret at all. He himself had been convinced they'd have been found out right away, but the days had gone by, turning into weeks, then months, then years, and nothing had ever come of it. He'd barely given Kurt Morten a thought in the past few years.

He was so sleepy. At least his father had stopped nagging at him to keep talking. Now if only that cow would quit its noise - it sounded as though it was right outside the plane. He could hear Virgil, too, his raised voice adding to the racket...

Gordon opened his eyes and started to take an interest in things once more as the plane's door opened and Virgil dived in, tripping over his feet in his haste. Slamming the door, he muttered something about over-friendly cows, before realising that both his father and brother were laughing at him.

"It's dangerous out there," he told them.

"You should get Gordon to move her," his father said drily and Virgil blushed.

"How are you doing?" he asked the invalids. "Shouldn't be too long before we get some help."

"You got the radio working?" Jeff asked.

"I'm nearly done. As soon as that cow moves on I'll finish the job."

"Why don't you just phone them?"

Jeff snapped his head round to look at Gordon, reddening as he realised they'd overlooked the most obvious means of communicating with the outside world. His mortification had nothing on Virgil's, though, the middle brother absolutely scarlet. Virgil steadfastly refused to look at his father and brother, though he couldn't avoid hearing Gordon's laughter.

"Seriously, Virg?" Gordon asked, fully alert again. "You forget something as simple as that? I've got concussion for an excuse, and Dad's been worrying about me, but you're supposed to be prepared for all eventualities aren't you? Some boy scout you are."

Virgil really didn't have an answer for this, muttering something unintelligible, but, as Jeff made the necessary calls, Gordon continued to tease his brother. Virgil put up with it for a few minutes, telling himself his brother needed something to keep him alert, but finally he'd had enough.

"Shut up!" he snapped. "I've had a shock too, you know. If you'd avoided those birds we wouldn't have crashed in the first place."

"If you hadn't called Dad away he'd have been there to-"

"That's enough!" Jeff interjected. "I know you boys can work together when you want to, don't go ruining it now."

"You heard it all then?" Virgil asked, more than happy to give up the fight. He lowered himself down to his knees and reached around to pick up the pieces of the engine he'd been working on.

"I did," his father told him.

"Oh."

Virgil was clearly desperate to know what his father thought but Jeff wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. If he was honest, he didn't really know what to think about it all.

They sat in silence until help arrived. Virgil stayed to handle the moving of the plane, whilst Jeff and Gordon were taken off to a nearby hospital.

A couple of hours later and Gordon was enjoying the comfort of his hospital bed. It could have been worse, he supposed: a mild concussion, requiring an overnight stay, plus severe bruising to his knee. The accompanying swelling would go down soon enough, but the doctor advised complete rest for at least a week, and that, for Gordon, was a disaster, tied as he was to such a tight training schedule.

The Olympic team coach wasn't happy when he heard, either. Jeff, his arm in a sling and also under instructions to rest, endured an uncomfortable telephone conversation with the man in which he was not only made to feel like the world's worst father but a traitor to his country too.

"Flying!" the man practically spat. "What's the point of that?"

Jeff could hardly give him the real answer. Anyway, given Gordon's reluctance to fly before the crash, it was unlikely he'd show much enthusiasm now.

They finally made it home the next day. Virgil would have welcomed the chance to catch up on some sleep, but Grandma had looked so disappointed when he'd suggested it that he'd downed three cups of strong coffee before taking her off to her church social, where he played with finesse, if not enthusiasm, for the next couple of hours.

With Alan off go-karting with a friend, Jeff and Gordon had the house to themselves.

"Get some sleep," Jeff suggested.

"I slept in the hospital." It was an unusually curt reply from his second-youngest son.

"Do you want anything to eat? Grandma left that cake."

"No! I can't train, Dad, so how can I eat cake? All I'm going to be doing for the next week is piling on weight and watching my muscle mass disappear. Do you know what my rivals will be doing? That's right, exactly the opposite - while they're laughing about me being taken out by a flock of stupid geese."

Jeff let him rant until he'd run out of steam.

"Well?" Gordon asked.

"Well, what?"

"Aren't you going to give me a pep talk? Or is that Grandma's job? Or Scott's? Hey, maybe Johnny can send me a message from his alien friends."

Jeff had been going to do exactly that. But now, given Gordon's black mood, he wondered if there was any point. Maybe it was time for a story of his own...

Jeff's story wasn't from the past, of course. It was all about the future - a very different future for the Tracy family than anyone had envisaged back in the days of Kurt Morten. Parts of it were based in the present too, as Gordon was presented with the real reasons for Virgil's sudden interest in first aid and helicopters.

Jeff had been through this three times now, and all of his oldest sons had reacted in similar ways, incredulous at first, then gradually buying into the idea until they were sitting on the edges of their seats interrupting him every few moments with suggestions of their own.

Typically, Gordon had to be different.

He'd listened far more quietly than Jeff had expected, his expression completely blank. Even when Jeff had finished, with the hope that Gordon join the team as its aquanaut, he said nothing.

"Gordon?" Well, Jeff couldn't blame him for being stunned. Who wouldn't be? Depending on how you looked at it, it was either an act of genius or of madness. He wasn't quite sure which himself!

Finally Gordon gave his response - even if it wasn't what Jeff had expected.

He laughed.

And once he started he couldn't stop.

"Well, you cheered me up, that's for sure," he finally gasped. "Nice one, Dad."

"Huh?" Jeff was genuinely confused.

"Spinning me a story like that. I get it. Revenge for what I told you about Kurt Morten, right? But that was _true_, this is just crazy. See, if you're going to tell a tale like this, you've got to-"

"Gordon, it's real."

"Sure it is."

Jeff's next words were said so quietly that he wasn't sure Gordon would even hear them. "I've never forgiven myself for not being able to save your mother. I've been trying to make up for it ever since."

Gordon stopped laughing immediately. For once in his life he simply didn't know what to say. Put it like that and suddenly his father's plans made perfect sense.

"I'll show you." Glad of the chance to compose himself, Jeff disappeared for a few minutes, returning to the lounge with his laptop. After tapping a few lengthy and complicated passwords into it, he passed it over to his son.

"The craft we'll be using."

Gordon was silent as he carefully studied page after page of Brains' designs. When he reached the submarine, he spent even longer on each page, his eyes lighting up with longing. Jeff smiled. He'd finally done what he'd hoped: given Gordon something to think about other than his own woes, and, just maybe, enticed his son onto the team. Not yet, of course - there were medals to be won first and he had no doubt that Gordon could quickly overcome this setback - but maybe one day.

"For real?" Gordon still couldn't quite believe it.

"For real. John's our communications expert, Scott's going to fly the recon plane and Virgil will bring the heavy-duty equipment. Wait till you see what else Brains has come up with, Gordon. It's like nothing the world has ever seen before."

"I bet it is. And no one will know it's us?"

'Us'. Jeff liked that.

"No. They can't. Remember, I told you why we need to keep things secret."

"Yeah. And all this is going to be based on that island you bought last year? The one you said was going to be your address for tax reasons? Kasa... Kapa..."

"The one you can't say and I can't spell?" Jeff smiled. "That's right. I'm going to call it 'Tracy Island'."

"Tracy Island? That's a bit... "

"Territorial? Arrogant? Unwelcoming?"

Gordon nodded.

"Good. That's exactly the impression I want to give. No visitors welcome, Tracys only." He looked at his son. "You don't like it?"

"It does the job I guess, but it's a bit plain. Like the name for this organisation. 'International Rescue'... It's not very exciting."

"It's not meant to be exciting, Gordon. It's meant to be reassuring."

"Guess so."

"So what do you say?"

"It's something to think about," Gordon said slowly. "If I can't swim..."

"Gordon!" Jeff said warningly. "I thought you didn't want the pep talk."

"I don't. Sorry I was such a grouch. Guess there are worse things in life than missing a competition."

"Not when it's the Olympics," Jeff said. "Follow your own dreams, son, not mine. But if you do want to get involved one day, I'll be proud to have you."

He got to his feet. "I've got to make a few business calls," he said. "Get some rest, Gordon."

But Gordon's head was too full of what he'd just heard for rest to be a possibility.

He was quiet all through dinner, retiring to his room afterwards whilst his grandmother perused her recipe books in search of something nutritionally suitable for a convalescing athlete, whilst Jeff and Virgil completed the repairs to Dylan's van. Virgil was delighted that his father had told Gordon all about International Rescue, insisting Gordon wouldn't want to miss out.

When he'd cleaned up - in typical Virgil-style he'd managed to get more oil over his hands and face than he'd poured into the engine - he went up to his brother's room. Gordon was delighted to see him.

"I can't stop thinking about what Dad said."

Virgil couldn't help the smile which immediately lit up his face. "I know. When he first told me I was in a daze for hours afterwards."

"At first I thought he was having me on," Gordon confessed. "You know, in revenge for that story about Kurt Morten. Then he showed me some of Brains' designs. They're incredible, Virg."

"I know. My plane... it's like nothing on Earth."

"Never mind the plane. That sub..."

"I knew that would get your interest. You want to be part of it?"

Gordon nodded. "Of course I do. I wish Dad had told me sooner."

"He didn't want to distract you from your swimming. It's going to be a big commitment. We'll all have to give up whatever we've got going on in real life - for a while at least. And competitive swimming isn't something you can go back to when you're older, not if you want those medals. It's going to be a big change for you, Gords. Scott will still fly, John will be up in space, I'll have all those machines... But you'll have to accept a completely new way of life."

Gordon shrugged. "Can I tell you a secret, Virg?"

"Another one?"

Gordon looked down at the covers of his bed as he spoke. "You know I always said I'd go into coaching after I finished competing?"

"Yeah." Virgil couldn't quite see where this was going. Surely Gordon wasn't going to choose that over life with International Rescue?

He wasn't. "For a while now, I've been having second thoughts. I look at my coach and he's the best there is: double Olympic medallist, world record holder... he had it all. But what does he do now? Just paces up and down with a stopwatch - he's hardly ever even in the pool. And when I race, I can see he wants to be in my place."

"It must be hard to step back from it," Virgil agreed. "Especially when you don't have any real alternatives."

"Yeah. I know I have fun teaching the local kids to swim, but I really didn't want to do that for the rest of my life."

"So why did you say you did?"

"Well, I'm not really cut out for much else, am I? Working for Dad's official business didn't really appeal to me and I haven't got the brains of the rest of you guys-"

"Gords! Come on, who remembered the phone yesterday? You've got more common sense than me and Dad, that's for sure."

Gordon couldn't help smiling. "Well, maybe. Anyway, that's why I worked so hard at the swimming, at least at the start. It was the one thing I could do better than any of you. But I've been wondering lately... And after what Dad said today..."

"Go on."

Gordon took a deep breath then brought up a window on his laptop, angling the screen to show Virgil.

"WASP."

Virgil stared at him in surprise. "You in the military? You've got to follow orders, Gords. There's no place for a clown on board a submarine."

"I'd take it seriously. Especially now. I think it would be perfect training for life in this rescue organisation."

"You've got a point."

How long until we're up and running?"

"A few years. Maybe more if there are any problems along the way."

"The timing works. Olympics next year, then WASP for a couple of years. Perfect."

"It is." Virgil held out his hand. "It's good to have you on board, Gordon."

Gordon shook his brother's hand, thinking how formal the act was - certainly they'd never done this before - and yet how appropriate. They were brothers, but in the future they'd be comrades as well, their relationship - everyone's relationship - entering a whole new dynamic.

Finally Virgil got to his feet. "I need to pack. I'm leaving first thing in the morning."

Gordon smiled. "Have fun. Got your phone?"

Virgil grinned. "Yep. You take care, Gords. You'll be back in the pool in no time."

He'd reached the door when Gordon called him back.

"Virg?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you really going to fly that monster all by yourself?"

"I'm going to have to, aren't I? A co-pilot would be useful but there's only Alan left and to be honest, I'd rather walk home than let him loose on my plane."

To his surprise Gordon neither smiled nor joined in the traditional brotherly insults.

"What about me?"

"You? I thought you'd decided flying wasn't for you."

"Yeah, well, that was before I knew about all this."

"I don't know, Gords. Like you said, she's a big girl," Virgil said. "If you were struggling to handle the jet..."

"I didn't take it that seriously. Anyway, I was having too much fun trying to scare Dad. Yesterday kind of cured me of that though..." He was silent for a moment, remembering the terror he'd felt as the plane had dropped from the sky. "I bet if I put my mind to it I could be a good pilot."

"You're a Tracy," Virgil told him. "Flying's in your blood."

"Let's hope so."

"Dad will be thrilled. And don't forget Scott will be home in a couple of weeks. He'll take you up. Between the pair of them you'll get your wings."

"So there you are," Gordon said, leaning back against the headboard. "We're going to be quite a team."

"We certainly are."

"Now all we need is a better name..."

* * *

Later that evening, after a long and satisfying talk with his fourth-born, Jeff relaxed at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, relating Gordon's story about Kurt Morten to his mother.

"Do you think he's having me on?" he asked tentatively, not sure what to make of her increasingly grim-lipped expression.

"No," she finally said. "I think it happened exactly the way he said."

"You knew?" Jeff was surprised he'd never heard about it if this was the case. His mother didn't tell tales and she certainly didn't pass the buck when it came to disciplining errant grandsons, but she didn't keep him out of the loop either, and she'd surely have made sure he knew about something like this.

Grandma took a sip of coffee then placed her cup back down before giving her son the one reply he'd never expected. "John told me."

"_John _told you? I thought maybe Alan... He said something just after Kurt Morten died that got me wondering, but I could never get anything out of him. I'd forgotten all about it. To be honest, I don't even know why I thought about it when we were in the plane. _John...?_"

Grandma shook her head and smiled. "I badgered him about the state of his clothes and his wrist. Oh, he came up with a few tales before realising that I wasn't buying any of them. So then he told me all about the boys' escapades at the Morten Farm. That poor old man..."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Jeff asked. "Why don't the boys know you know? Didn't you punish them? And what about Morten? You surely didn't think it was okay for him to go around threatening kids with guns and locking them up?"

Grandma laughed bitterly. "I didn't believe him. Well, Jeff, would you? I scolded him for being smart and sent him to his room with no dessert. I can't believe he played me like that."

Jeff had to laugh. "The little... Just as well it was eight years ago. What can I do about it now? Can't ground him, not when he's going to be in space half the year."

"I suppose not."

"He's not going to get any apple pie next time he comes home, is he?"

"No, he's not. Jeff, you'd better make sure the boy has plenty to occupy himself up on that satellite because if he gets bored with all that technology at his fingertips..."

Jeff had to admit it was a scary prospect.

The pair were silent as they drank their coffee.

"Gordon's thinking of joining WASP," Jeff finally said.

"So he's going to be part of your team, after all, is he?"

"Yes. I'm so glad, Mom. I need him."

"So that's all of them."

"I haven't told Alan. I won't - not until he's older."

"He won't say no. That boy lives for speed and danger. In fact, I'll be relieved when he gets away from those racing cars and does something a little less dangerous."

"It won't be safe, Mom."

"I know, Jeff."

"I'm asking a lot of the boys. Not just the danger, but the things they'll be giving up."

"I know." Grandma had always been worried about this aspect of the plan.

"It's not forever, though. Just for a year or two, to see if the thing will actually work. Then we can look at expanding."

"Of course it will work, Jeff."

"You're very sure of that."

"Aren't you?"

"Well, the machinery's a given. Brains is a genius and these are his greatest creations. But the rest of it. The secrecy, all the deception it involves... Do you really think we can do it?" Jeff had always been such an honest, up-front man that he'd had more than a few sleepless nights worrying about all this.

"With John on your team? Oh, I don't think you'll have any problems there."

Jeff had to laugh. "I don't know where he gets it from."

"Oh, that's easy, Jeff," his mother said, topping up his coffee.

"It is?"

"Of course. He gets it all from you."

_"Me?"_ Jeff spluttered through a mouthful of coffee.

"Yes, you. Look at what you've cooked up over the last few years. Secret bases on remote islands, a mysterious organisation appearing from nowhere and disappearing again, a network of secret agents... John's an amateur compared to you."

Ignoring her son's indignant denials, she got up and moved over to the oven to take out the batch of cookies she'd baked for Virgil and his friends.

"Oh yes, Jeff," she smiled. "No wonder you want your boys on your team. You're all as bad as each other."

There was no answer to that!


End file.
